


The Unexpected Betrothal

by orphan_account



Series: the Triquetra [1]
Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Angst, Arranged Marriage, Confusion, Falling In Love, Interspecies Relationship(s), Interspecies Romance, Interspecies Sex, Love Triangles, Love/Hate, M/M, Male Homosexuality, Mpreg, Threesome - M/M/M, Unexpected arranged marriages, implied self-impregnation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-16
Updated: 2014-02-23
Packaged: 2018-01-08 23:21:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 24,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1138668
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sixty years have passed since the battle of the five armies and some unexpected guests have come to attend Bilbo’s one hundred and eleventh birthday. And there’s a wedding announcement in there somewhere...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Over the last few days, the Shire had been overrun.

There were far too many people walking the streets.

Men of Dale had arrived alongside the King of Erebor’s caravan, enjoying the drink given at the Green Dragon while the kings themselves marched up the cobblestone path to a round green door. Greeting them was not the Hobbit they expected. He was younger, fair, and was quite frightened at first.

The one they did seek is older, though still somehow quite youthful, even for a Hobbit of a hundred and ten. Tea was passed around, then wine, and the youth took his chance to escape if he could.

Then came the Elves of Rivendell and Mirkwood a week later. The welcome they received was far kinder. Sadly, rooms were all taken up, but the Elves didn’t seem to mind, making camp in the Old Forest along Buckland and along the Brandywine River.

It was more comfortable for them anyway compared to the small, stuffy rooms at the inns.

The children especially took interest in the Elves and could be seen wandering the woods more often. Tweens gave attention to the warriors of every visiting race, watching them train along the water banks. The elderly hobbits were flummoxed by the kindness each of the visitors gave them.

It seemed the long expected party had begun earlier than predicted, if Bilbo Baggins did say so himself. He personally felt quite tickled that so many old friends had deemed it appropriate to grace the Shire with their presence. Many Hobbits thought him mad since his adventures, but the unexpected amiability between the four races shocked Hobbits all around the Shire.

Bilbo could usually be found having a good smoke with the visiting lords and kings.

For Frodo Baggins, on the other hand, it was a nightmare. Especially on the night he came home to find thirteen Dwarves laughing raucously over a story Bilbo was telling. About him. Ten years ago.

He was never going to live down streaking through Hobbiton after a lass tricked him into having a romp in the cornfield only to abandon him half way through and him finding his clothes were stolen.

With little else to do, but go home, Frodo tried to stick to the shadows and not be seen. Needless to say, he failed the moment the Sheriffs found him and dragged him home with a blanket wrapped around his shoulders.

It was cruel and Frodo did not find it funny at all (Bilbo less so at the time, but now laughed quite openly about it…hence the story being told to his old traveling companions after a couple rounds of wine).

Nothing could be worse for the young Hobbit as he trudged up the stairs, trying to escape their notice. He collapsed onto his bed and screamed into the pillow.

Bilbo couldn’t wait until the party to embarrass him.

No.

He _had_ to start early. After a good scream, he harrumphed and turned toward the door. He could still hear them laughing and singing downstairs and probably would be downstairs for quite a long time.

 _Maybe I should go visit Sam,_ Frodo mused. _See if they can put me up for the night instead of staying home tonight._

He would be the last to admit not liking Bilbo’s guests. On the contrary, he was fascinated by them. Frodo also noticed the blatant tension between Bilbo and _the_ Thorin Oakenshield, but assumed it had to do with Bilbo’s theft the Arkenstone sixty years ago.

He groaned again, turning onto his back, unwilling to risk being caught sneaking to Sam’s or to another friend’s. He was interrupted by a knock on the door. He stood and peered out the door. Which one was this Dwarf again?

“You okay, Frodo?”

_Right. Kili._

“Just a little…well, very frustrated with Bilbo. I’m still traumatized over _that_ tale.”

“You mean the streaking one?” He grinned. “Most of us here had done worse than that. Fili streaked _intentionally_ when he was your age then. Frequently. Once was during a council meeting. Thorin had never been crosser with him. We’re about to have desert if you’re hungry.”

“Can you guarantee that Bilbo won’t embarrass me?”

“Gimli had to live through six embarrassing stories. Fili three, me five. You walked in on _one_. I doubt Bilbo’s got much more to tell anyway. You’re quite timid. Even for a tween, according to Bilbo.”

Frodo nodded. He was very timid in comparison. That didn’t mean he didn’t have fun once in a while or pull a prank on the Big Folk when given half a chance.

“Besides, I’d not leave Thorin and Bilbo alone in the same room for long.”

“They _aren’t_ alone.”

“I’ll need your help to keep it that way. Trust me.”

“Why? Doesn’t their…iciness have to do with the Arkenstone?”

“Well…yes and no,” Kili sighed.

Frodo stepped out of the room, closing the door behind him and walking beside Kili down hall to the dining room.

“It’s a lot more complicated than you think. It isn’t as straightforward as Bilbo stole the stone and then Thorin tried to kill him—that’s all you really know, or that’s the impression I got?”

“Yes. And now my curiosity is sparked, so tell me!” Frodo demanded.

Kili snorted. “In time. Can’t have our uncles overhearing us talking about it.”

“I doubt they’re still bitter over that. Bilbo’s getting along fine with Thorin.”

“Sure. If you define ‘fine’ as the same as ‘walking into a freezing cold room in the nude,’” Kili said stretching.

Frodo glared at him, wishing he’d just _tell_ him. But there was no time for demands as they entered the kitchen.

“Ah, Frodo! Welcome home, Lad. I was just about to tell them about the time you…”

 _And tuning him out_ , Frodo thought, sitting between Fili and Kili, staring at the plate. _I am not here. I am having a nightmare. Bilbo is not actually enjoying his time telling his companions about all the times I embarrassed myself over the years…_

“That’s nothin’!” Gloin shouted. “Gimli—”

Gimli stood, seizing a biscuit and stuffing it in his father’s mouth. The whole room applauded, laughing.

“Thataboy, Gimli!”

“Finally, somebody shut him up!”

“What ya say? Somebody’s got the mumps?”

Gimli stood and bowed, smirking around the group before sitting down again.

“Another Frodo story!”

“No!” Frodo shouted.

“Oh, please,” Bilbo snorted. “Dare I go into _before_ I adopted you? I’m afraid those tend to be the best ones since you’ve always been a timid tween.”

Cheers for more stories left Frodo sinking in his seat, beat red.

Until Bilbo decided o tell about the one time he got sick all over Lobelia Sackville-Baggins. _That_ was a tale told with pride. Much like the tales the others have shared about a son or nephew mastering a craft or weapon.

Granted, it wasn’t _really_ the same, but everyone was laughing. And Lobelia deserves more vomit covering her anyway, the hag.

“It’d have been better if you managed it again,” Bilbo sighed. Frodo rolled his eyes. “Three years ago, he came of drinking age, splurged at the Green Dragon, and came home riotously drunk!”

“But I ended up puking all over you that time,” Frodo added. “But the only reason I know that is because you told me and I spent the next three days cleaning the house and doing laundry.”

“That vest was never saved…” Bilbo sighed. “It had to be tossed after that. The house smelt like ammonia for the next week after the stench of vomit finally left!”

Fili patted Frodo’s shoulder. “Well done, Lad. I tip my hat to you. I’m not brave enough to vomit on my own uncle.”

“You were once. But you were much younger and it was excusable,” Thorin grumbled, leaning back in his seat.

The Dwarf King, even in his old age, was quite the image of regality. Save for more lines in his face, some clearly scars rather than the result of age, and his now completely white hair, one would not have guessed that Thorin Oakenshield had aged at all.

“Well, I mean when I was Frodo’s age when he vomited all over Bilbo.”

“You’d be dead,” Thorin said, smirking. “And Kili would be king when I pass.”

“Mahal on high, no!”

“The world is still nowhere near ready for that!”

“At least they mellowed out a bit in the last sixty years…”

In the shouts, Frodo examined Thorin. The Dwarf King’s eyes had shifted to Bilbo, staring at him. If Bilbo noticed, he made no indication of knowing he was being scrutinized. Frodo learned a little bit about the King staying in his house:

He was quiet. Not mouse-like quiet, but he rarely spoke and often could be found in the study, reading through Bilbo’s books, some of which Bilbo wrote himself.

If not for the way he carried himself, the length of his beard, and thickness of his fingers, he could pass as a small man. Frodo could also tell he was once very handsome. He asked Bilbo about it and was told that the Dwarfish standards of beauty were not found in the Royal family. To Men and Hobbits, Thorin was certainly a handsome dwarf in his prime. But never to his own people.

“Too Elfish,” Bilbo said curtly. “Kili has the same…problem, I suppose. If you want the ideal standard of beauty among Dwarves, you need only look to Ori. Before him, his brother Dori was the ideal image of Dwarfish beauty.”

Thorin rarely showed emotion. To get a read on what he was feeling, Frodo soon learned, you had to look at his eyes. Thorin was old now, but those eyes showed wisdom gained through trials, of a hard life he did not lead anymore—

And yet they always seemed sad. Especially now as he watched Bilbo barely blinking.

Frodo wondered why that was. He shifted his gaze to Bilbo. And he was _definitely_ aware he was being watched. His stance was stiffer, his eyes a bit harder, and his voice tenser.  

A bit of toffee flew through the air in front of him.

Frodo glanced at Kili in time to see him glaring, making a quick cutting motion with his hand across his throat. He followed Kili’s gaze to Thorin, who was glaring back. Sometimes Frodo wondered if they really were uncle and nephew. The interaction between the younger heir and the king seemed more like father and son to him.

_What was that about?_


	2. Chapter 2

Everyone was up before dawn on the twenty-second of September, preparing the Brandywine’s bank for the party that would take place that evening.

The party tree had a podium set up for when Bilbo would give his speech that would be demanded right before dinner. There were maypoles set up with ribbons long enough to allow all in attendance to participate in a symbol of unity. Game stands were set up as well as shops.

 _Merchants_ , Frodo thought with a twinge of annoyance. _Can’t_ not _turn a profit even at a celebration…_

Rangers could be seen venturing into the Shire, taking watch in case things got out of hands and their small charges were put in danger from the larger, bulkier guests.

Food was brought by the women and girls. A few Men and Dwarves were already taken with a few Hobbits, entranced by their exotic beauty.

To the Men of the East and to Dwarves, Hobbits certainly seemed exotic, even though Frodo felt anything _but_. Even some of the male Hobbits seemed to gather admirers among the visitors. (And if Frodo were to really look around, he’d be a tad unnerved by the stares and blushes in his direction from every race in attendance…even among his own.)

Kili clapped his shoulder. “Morning, Frodo!”

“Good morning,” he greeted.

“Have you seen Thorin?”

“No.”

Kili’s grin began to die. “Bilbo?”

“He’s still asleep.” The Dwarf’s smile vanished and he muttered under his breath. “What’s wrong? Thorin’s probably still sleeping too.”

“It’s nearly eight o’clock. I doubt both are still asleep _now_. Those here have been up for _hours_ already. They’re awake. And alone.”

Frodo followed. “Does it have anything to do with Thorin looking at Bilbo last night?”

“They were engaged,” Kili said. “And that’s the short of it. The wedding was called off after the Battle of the Five Armies.”

“Engaged?!” Frodo exclaimed, trying to keep up with the archer. “They were—”

“In love?” Kili finished for him. “Yes.”

He stopped, turning to stare at Frodo.

“Frodo, my people are steadfast and passionate. We only ever love one person. Bilbo understood and accepted that. However, what my uncle did was unforgiveable, madness or no. Many of us hoped he’d have forgiven Thorin for trying to kill him, but it seems that even one as forgiving as Bilbo was when I knew him—none of us deserved his friendship, but he still considered us his friends regardless—couldn’t forgive everything. He never wrote Thorin in all the years since we took Erebor back…Frodo, my Uncle still loves Bilbo passionately, but he has lost all right to be near Bilbo alone. He knows this, but has been trying to get a moment alone with Bilbo so to try and talk to him.”

“Why not let him then?”

“Bilbo has the Warrior’s Sickness, at least that’s what I’ve been told whenever Balin or one of the others visited him. He’s gotten better, I see it, but I fear what he’ll do if he finds himself alone with Thorin.”

“Does he know? Does Thorin know?”

“Yes.” Kili continued striding to Bag End.

“ _Don’t touch me!_ ”

Kili growled.

“That fool,” he hissed.

Frodo ran after Kili, unsure he wanted to see Bilbo as angry and terrified as he sounded from outside.

“Uncle! What did I tell you?!” Kili shouted, placing himself between Thorin and Bilbo. Bilbo was massaging his neck, hyperventilating. Thorin seemed lost and unsure, his hands held up. Frodo ran to his uncle, pulling his hands away from his throat and stroking his hair.

“I only—”

“No, we agreed! _You_ agreed you would not be alone with him! You should have come to the river the _moment_ you knew!”

“What’s going on?”

Frodo stared at Fili, who appraised the room. The elder prince sighed, leading a strikingly distraught Thorin gently from the room. It was a huge difference between the brothers. Fili arched a brow at Kili and frowned, signing with one hand.

Kili scoffed, crossing his arms.

“What did Fili say to you?” Frodo asked.

“To remember that he’s still my uncle,” He snarled.

Frodo felt cold, wondering if Kili hated Thorin.

“I love him,” Kili said softly whe he saw the shock etched on Frodo's face. “I do love Thorin. My father died before I had the chance to know him, so Thorin is more my father than most and Mum has told me that we’re a lot alike. Some have mistaken Thorin for my father at times too. But…what he did to Bilbo…No one should have to go through that. I want them both to be happy, but I think if it hasn’t happened yet, it might never happen. Thorin was cruel to Bilbo before the Arkenstone; lightened up when they began courting…finding your One at long last while on a quest is hard on many Dwarves. My uncle is no exception, though he tries to be above it…” Kili sighed. “I’ll make some tea. Could you help Bilbo into the kitchen? Just be mindful of his neck.”

Frodo nodded, helping Bilbo up, gripping his uncle’s wrist and pulling his hands away from his neck before following Kili into the kitchen. He helped Bilbo into a chair before refilling the tea kettle and filling it with fresh water before setting it over the fireplace.

“When we met the first night sixty years ago, here in this house, Thorin greeted and insulted Bilbo in the same breath. For the most part, he did well ignoring Bilbo, but sometimes he couldn’t and usually where he tried to show concern, he also ended up yelling at him at the same time. Even when he finally gathered enough courage to tell Bilbo, the night Bilbo saved his life from Azog the Defiler, he yelled at him…he stopped after that, beginning to court him after which in the manner one would court their shield-brother.”

“I never knew it was acceptable among Dwarves,” Frodo said as Kili refilled the pot with a few teaspoons of chamomile tea leaves. The prince grinned.

“It’s always been acceptable among my people. We don’t have many women and fewer still are willing to be tied down in marriage. Dwarves may be hardy and stout and brutish to the other races but we’re romantics at heart. Often, men would court men. Sometimes you’d find a woman courting a woman. And some of our men are able to bear children. Are Hobbits not like that? Forgive my ignorance, Bilbo was as protective of his culture as we were of ours. Only Thorin, Balin, and Ori knew anything about Hobbits after meeting Bilbo.”

“No. Not that I know of. I’ve heard that Elves are able to do so, but Hobbits cannot. We’re like Men in that regard…are you…”

“A bearer?” Kili shook his head. “I’m not. Fili is, though, and will still be King after Thorin. Thorin wouldn’t have it any other way and I wouldn’t want it to be either. A male bearer is rather unique in his own way, though, compared to women.” Kili grinned. “For one, Fili need not marry. When the time comes for him to have an heir, he can impregnate himself…Elves are capable of the same ability. Makes it wonderfully easy…not having to worry about finding a spouse before continuing the family line. Ori’s also a male bearer, but he’s married…”

Frodo felt confused. He _was_ confused. Kili chuckled and scratched the back of his head.

“I did hear that it could be confusing to Men, trying to explain a bearer’s ability to self-impregnate…I suppose the same is true for Hobbits since they also do not have bearers…Anyway, things were good for Bilbo and Thorin for a while: we reclaimed the mountain, Smaug was slain—everything was just wonderful. Thorin even openly announced his engagement to Bilbo. But after that…one by one, we all fell ill from the gold madness. Most of the group began acting strange. Those who were once strongly devoted to their loved ones and family couldn’t think of anything else but of gold. I’m ashamed to admit I was one of them.

“Thorin, however, was obsessed with finding the Arkenstone. Night and day, he demanded it. We couldn’t find it. And then the armies came and we still couldn’t find it. Thorin wouldn’t hear of anything they had to say. Not one of us did. Save Bilbo. Food was running scarce and so was water, but none of us paid attention to it. And one morning the Arkenstone was shown to Thorin in his enemy’s hands. Bilbo admitted to having found it earlier and to taking it to them…”

The kettle whistled. He saved the water and poured it into the teapot. “You can understand that Thorin felt betrayed. We all did. But what snapped most of us out of the madness was when he seized Bilbo and started choking him, screaming at him…promising to kill him.”

Bilbo tensed beside Frodo.

“Such a thing is simply not done, threatening your One. We take finding our One very seriously, but certain things allow for an engagement to break. From that moment, Bilbo had every right to walk away. And he did. He lived, and he left. When the madness passed, my uncle was distraught. He doesn’t blame Bilbo for leaving, but we only love once in our whole lives. My uncle, I think, only wishes to know Bilbo’s mind, to know if he’s forgiven because, honestly, he can’t forgive himself.”

“The damned bastard…”

“Bilbo?” Frodo glanced at his uncle, Kili poured him a cup of tea. Bilbo thanked him, taking the tea in hand. “Are you okay?”

“I am now. And no need to be so hard on your uncle, Kili. I only panicked.” He grinned. “He gave me wide berth. If I really wished to, I easily could have gotten away. We started yelling at each other again and the next thing I know…”

“You were on the balcony again…I have Warrior’s Sickness too, Bilbo, I know how it works.” He sent Frodo a sheepish smile. “Anything, really, can trigger an attack. Most of the time it’s just nightmares…”

“That’s how it is for me as well,” Bilbo said, drinking his tea. “I’ve not had a panic attack like that in a long time.”

Kili stared guiltily at the table. “Then we ought to have forbidden Thorin from coming.”

Bilbo laughed dryly. “I’d like to have seen you and Fili _try_. That uncle of yours is a stubborn old mule when it suits him. Once he sets his mind to something, nothing short of death will stop him.”

“True…Bilbo I am really sorry—”

“You are not the one who should be making any apologies to me, Lad. You had only just come of age, after all. I do not hold you or Fili or Ori responsible at all for being unable to do anything…”

There was rapping at the door. Bilbo rolled his eyes and his shoulders dropped.

“NO THANK YOU!!” he shouted at the door. “We don’t want any more visitors or well wishers well within distant relations!”

“What about very old friends?” the voice outside called.

Bilbo brightened and headed toward the door. Kili nudged Frodo’s foot under the table.

“Let’s go before those two old fools start gossiping like a couple of grandmothers.”

Frodo nodded and they bade goodbye to Bilbo, giving a quick hello to the Wizard. “You ever think you’re too hard on your uncle?” Frodo asked once Bag End was behind him.

“Fili thinks so,” Kili admitted. “The whole _Company_ thinks so. They aren’t excusing his actions. They’re just under the impression that he punishes himself enough for it. Perhaps he does, but as I said, he raised me. That day, after he let Bilbo go, I was so close to renouncing any relation to him. That day, I was ashamed of sharing blood with Thorin Oakenshield.

"I liked Bilbo and I was happy to welcome him to the family. But that day, seeing my uncle like that…for days, when people asked me how he faired, I falsely led them to believe Thorin was dead. ‘I have no uncle,’ I told them. When he called for me, I would not go.”

Kili swallowed. “Not until Fili came by and boxed my ear. He and the others had to keep explaining that Thorin was very much alive and they were confused as to why I was denying having an uncle. When Fili realized what it was I was doing, he yelled at me. ‘Go tell him you’re sorry,’ he screamed at me. ‘I don’t care if you’re really not. He’s broken enough. He lost Bilbo. He can’t lose you too, Kili. At least give him the illusion that he still has your love. Don’t punish him for this. He’ll punish himself enough and you know it.’”

“Fili’s right,” Frodo said. “I keep seeing Thorin look at Bilbo and he…well…honestly, he looks broken, if I may use Fili’s words. Broken seems to be the only thing that truly explains how he looks at Bilbo.”

“So you think I’ve been cruel as well.”

“You _have_ been cruel." Frodo snapped. "I don’t think it. Maybe not as cruel now as you were sixty years ago, but what you did then was simply awful and petty! Bilbo raised me after I became too much for my maternal aunt and uncle. I didn’t make it easy for him at times, especially early on I admit, but even then I can’t fathom ever being so angry at Bilbo I’d actually deny ever being related to him!”

Frodo bit his lip, wondering if he spoke too much. Probably did. Kili stared at him expressionlessly.

“You never seemed to ever be so vindictive to me!" he continued, deciding he might as well get it out. "Not from Bilbo’s stories. Not the way he portrayed you—”

Kili’s hand held the back of his head, gently tugging his short curls, bending down to press his mouth to Frodo’s.


	3. Chapter 3

Kili’s nails gently scratched Frodo’s scalp. His other hand caressed a soft cheek. Frodo tilted his head back a little more, opening his mouth and darting his tongue out over Kili’s lips. Kili groaned, responding to Frodo, delving his tongue into Frodo’s eager mouth.

“Oi, lads! Not in public!” they jumped apart. Mr. Cotton glared at them, his daughter Rosie giggling behind him. “What will your uncle say to this, Mr. Frodo?”

He shrugged. “Probably tell me that I needed to do better at scandalizing half the Shire if I wanted to be the next Mad Baggins?”

Mr. Cotton rolled his eyes and pulled his daughter along. She still laughed, shoulders shaking.

Kili pinched the bridge of his nose. “I am _so_ sorry.”

“I’m not mad,” Frodo said. “If it means anything, that had to be the best kiss I’ve…” he blushed, bowing his head. “I liked it. Yes, I was surprised, but it wasn’t at all unpleasant…”

“I was out of line.”

“Kili, I reached my majority _today_ , if that’s what you’re worried about. No kissing of minors here,” he patted Kili’s arm. “And it really was the best kiss I’ve ever had, so don’t…”

“You’re an adult?”

“As of today.”

“So you and Bilbo share the same birthday?”

“Yes.”

“Well…that makes it easier on me, I suppose…I still should not have kissed you…bad timing still seems to be a bad habit of mine…I just…I wanted to kiss you the moment I saw you a month ago…”

Frodo felt his cheeks pinking. Kili led him off the path behind a tree. Not as secluded as he’d like, but with Kili crowding him, they weren’t easily seen. He leaned in, almost kissing Frodo’s ear.

“It was the morning after we arrived in Hobbiton. You just woke up and had not dressed yet, nor wore a robe; just a white nightshirt that seemed a little big on you. One of your shoulders was bare for all to see. Your hair was sticking up at odd ends. Bilbo yelled at you to go get dressed, waving a wooden spoon in the air. I thought he was going to hit you with it, but you just stuck your tongue out at him and went to do as he commanded. I had to sneak away and lock the door to the room Bilbo offered me and Fili, thinking of you, your tongue, and that nightshirt.”

Bilbo did say he was oblivious to others when they were looking at him, but astoundingly astute to when someone else has their eyes set on another. It may have escaped him the way Kili was looking at him while he focused on the way Thorin stared at Bilbo.

Frodo tugged at the hem of his shirt, his face as red as a braeburn apple. Amidst his embarrassment at Kili’s confession, his head buzzed with a mixture of flattery and contentment.

Kili may not be attractive to other Dwarves, if Bilbo was to be believed, but to Hobbits such as Frodo (and possibly to Men), he was gorgeous.

“You’re not really alone in your affection toward me,” he admitted, trying to fight down his blush. “I had to be quiet, but I thought about you as well.”

“Tell me,” Kili whispered, kissing Frodo’s throat. “What you imagined, and how you went about pleasuring yourself.”

“Really now!”

They broke apart, staring up at the tree. Any and all arousal Frodo felt died.

“There’re more people about then usual, you know, for the party tonight,” the Elf snapped, wrinkling his nose. His flaxen hair fell over his shoulders, shining in the sunlight that seeped through the branches. His angular face was twisted into a sneer and his blue eyes held a cruel glint. “You’ll need someplace a little more private.”

“So we noticed,” Kili snarled. “You could have just left, Legolas.”

“I’m only telling you because you were already reprimanded for kissing in public. If not, I’d just sit back and enjoy the show.”

“Perverted Elf.”

“I prefer the term kinky, but that’s just me.”

“You— _you_ were completely content to—to _spy_ on us!” Frodo sputtered, angry and furious. He felt he might cry. _Oh, Mother above, this is humiliating!_ “Why would you—why would _anyone_ —”

“Well, when you get a Dwarf like Kili putting his hands on a Hobbit like you…those of us who still have even a little hope for Master Baggins and the King under the Mountain start poking their feelers out. After all, now it’s more creepy than sexy. Need fresh bait. No old bloke sex, please!”

“ _Legolas_ ,” Kili growled.

Frodo seized an apple that had fallen from the tree off the ground and threw it, successfully hitting Legolas between the eyes.

The Elf lost his balance, arms flailing. He caught himself in time before he fell, but Frodo had already stormed off, trying not to cry.

_Blasted Elf! How could anyone be so rude?! The bastard!_

“Frodo!”

He kept walking, ignoring Kili behind him.

Kili seized his arm. “Frodo, I am so sorry about that. Elves tend to be right bastards when it suits them—”

“You’re not the one who needs to apologize,” he said. “I’m just…You’ve heard a few stories from Bilbo last night, but _that_!”

“I know, I know,” Kili embraced him, petting his hair. “You’ve every right to be angry. _I’m_ angry. And it’s your birthday. No one should be humiliated on their birthday and I’m sorry I had a small hand in it.”

“But you didn’t intend to…”

“No. I didn’t intend for _Legolas_ of all people to find us. Let alone would I have expected him to be discourteous. His father, sure, I’d expect Thranduil to act like that. Him, though? He’s usually kinder. I’ve no idea what would make him act like that.” Kili sighed, pressing his forehead to Frodo’s, massaging his biceps. “Would you like to go home for a little while?”

“And have Bilbo wonder what’s wrong? Are you crazy?” Frodo laughed, wiping his eyes. “One look and he’ll know something’s upset me. I’d rather he think everything’s okay rather than explain why the Elf decided to upset us.”

“Would he do something about it?”

“Probably chase him with Sting, if he were up to it.”

Kili laughed, kissing him again. “Let’s go home, _Zundushel_.* We’ll sneak around Bilbo. Or at least try to.”

“There you are!” A hand clapped Kili’s shoulder and he almost buckled. “Where’ve ya been, Kili,” Dwalin demanded. “Fili says he’s a bone to pick with ya.”

“With Frodo…”

“Rain check?” Frodo asked, smiling shyly up at Kili as he tucked a loose strand of curly hair behind his ear. Kili grinned.

“Sure.”

Dwalin rolled his eyes, pulling him away. “C’mon, _âzyungûn_. Duty calls.”

“Duty sucks balls…”

“Mahal, act your age!”

Kili turned around to face Frodo, blowing him a kiss. Frodo snorted. _Can’t get cornier than that,_ he thought, deciding to head home for now.

#

Fireworks lit the black sky, reflected in the Brandywine.

Flutes, drums, whistles, and fiddles created a fast paced tune for dancing, high above the laughter, both drunken and sober. Girls danced, dallying about with Man, Elf, and Dwarf suitors.

Where Frodo was, however, only the fireworks gave light to his and Kili’s faces when they exploded overhead. Frodo’s fingers tangled in Kili’s long locks as the prince bruised his lips and nuzzled his neck. Occasionally, Kili nipped his ear and Frodo would feel a fire spark move to his toes. Thumbs rubbed circles into his hips. Kili’s hands pinned him down, not that he needed to, but the dominance the Dwarf exhibited excited Frodo and he’d tug on Kili’s hair…

“ _Men lananubukhs menu_ , _Zundushel,_ ” Kili murmured.  

“No fair,” Frodo replied, hissing at a harsh nip against his pulse. “I’ve no idea what you’re saying.”

“I am saying I love you,”

“And Zun…zen…”

“ _Zundushel_ means bird of birds.”

“I'm not a bird.”

“Don’t be so literal, _Ghivashel_. Which, by the way, is treasure of treasures. When a Dwarf calls his lover Ghivashel, the meaning changes to ‘beloved,’ or ‘most precious.’” He propped up on his elbows, staring down at Frodo, finger stroking his cheek.

“So in a way you’re saying I’m fragile?”

“Far from it. Probably what I’m trying to say is that I’m enchanted by your delicate features and your voice.”

“My voice?”

“It sounds like music even when you’re not singing. I bet you’re very good at singing.”

“I’ve been told so…” Frodo admitted. Kili blinked at him and climbed off.  Frodo sat up. He felt cold and frowned at his lover. “Kili?”

“Sing for me.”

Frodo bit his lip. “What? Now?”

“Yes,” Kili grinned, “Now. I half expected you to deny it and I was going to push you to sing for me anyway, so why not?”

Frodo swallowed, wetting his lips. Bilbo had a number of songs, which he taught all the children. Most were inspired by Dwarfish music, and some Elfish. He didn’t dare look at Kili before choosing the song.

_Upon the hearth the fire is red, beneath the roof there is a bed;_

_But not yet weary are our feet, still round the corner we may meet_

_A sudden tree or standing stone that none have seen but we alone._

**_Tree and flower and leaf and grass, let them pass! Let them pass!_ **

**_Hill and water under sky, pass them by! Pass them by!_ **

_Still round the corner there may wait a new road or secret gate,_

_And though we pass them by today, tomorrow we may come this way_

_And take the hidden paths that run toward the Moon or to the Sun._

**_Apple, thorn, and nut and sloe, let them go! Let them go!_ **

**_Sand and stone and pool and dell, fare you well! Fare you well!_ **

_Home is behind, the world ahead, and there are many paths to tread_

_Through shadows to the edge of night, until the stars are all alight._

_Then world behind and home ahead, we’ll wander back to home and bed._

**_Mist and twilight, cloud and shade, away shall fade! Away shall fade!_ **

**_Fire and lamp, and meat and bread, and then to bed! And then to bed!_ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song from The Fellowship of the Ring: “Three is Company”
> 
> Neo-Khuzdul, according to Scribd:
> 
> Zundushel=Bird of birds  
> I found “zundushul” which is “Bird-like”, replaced “u” with “e” such as within the word “ghivashel” which is “treasure of treasures” and used as the equivalent to “beloved” when in reference to another person.  
> Kili nicknames Frodo “Zundushel” in reference to Frodo’s delicate bone structure, musical voice, height, and timidness reminding him of a bird
> 
> Âzyungûn=lover boy (âzyung=love, -ûn=man)  
> Literally “love-man,” but the closest English translation could be “lover boy”
> 
> Men lananubukhs menu=I love you  
> Not from Scribd, but Angelfire.


	4. Chapter 4

Another firework boomed overhead. Frodo bit his lip, hoping his blush would die down. Kili pressed his forehead to Frodo’s, running his fingers through his hair.

“I rest my case: _Zundushel_ is the best pet name I could give you.”

“Sweet talker.”

Kili grinned. “So I’ve been told—”

“Kili, Frodo, everyone’s looking for you,” Bofur called. “What’ve you two been doin’ anyway?”

“Nothing,” Frodo said, pulling out of Kili’s grasp, trying to straighten his appearance and hide the evident bruise on his neck.

“Right…” Bofur slurred, arms crossed. He grinned lopsidedly. “Kili, we need you for Bilbo’s song.”

“Be right there.”

Frodo entered into the circle among the laughing and dancing people before Bofur and Kili did, sitting beside Sam Gamgee. He nudged him. “Go on,” he urged. “Ask Rosie for a dance.”

Sam glanced over his shoulder at Rosie, biting his lip. “I think I’ll just get another ale,” he mumbled.

As he stood, so did Frodo, who took the mug from his hand and shoved him onto the dance floor. Sam stumbled and nearly knocked Rosie to the ground, but the girl was quick on her feet, leading a bright red Sam through the dance.

“Merry is the one who wishes to share his joy in the most unexpected ways.”

Frodo turned to the speaker. Legolas raised the mug to his lips.

“I’ve no idea what you’re talking about.”

“You do. Anyone with eyes and have been looking at you long enough would know what I mean as well.”

His hand flew to his neck, covering the bite Kili left. Embarrassment gave way to indignation and he lowered his arm, hands crossed over his chest. “It’s no concern of yours.”

“It’s _every_ concern of mine,” Legolas growled.

Frodo didn’t know Elves knew _how_ to growl. It seemed more of a Man, Dwarf, and Hobbit sort of thing to do.

“I don’t see how it could be,” he snapped, brow scrunching between his eyes. “Until today, you never spoke to me. Not once. Why do you _care_ that I like Kili?”

Legolas stared at him. “You don’t know?” His voice was soft, almost inaudible above the noise. His anger, seemingly, melted away, leaving something akin to what Frodo would have called broken.

“Know what?” Frodo asked, still frowning at the rude Elf.

 

_Blunt the knives, bend the forks;_

_Smash the bottles and burn the corks—_

“You’ll find out sooner or later,” Legolas said.

“You may as well tell me now,” Frodo demanded.

The Elf stood and fled. Not walked away, not sauntered, but actually _fled_ , shoving his kin out of his way with a bowed head and hunched shoulders.

 

**_That’s what Bilbo Baggins hates!_ **

“Hilarious, lads,” Bilbo shouted above the noise, voice thick with sarcasm. “You’re sense of humor has greatly improved.”

Frodo clapped with the rest as the song finished, smiling at Kili, who winked at him and smirked.

“Speech! Speech! Speech!”

The chant picked up pace and the clapping intensified as the Company descended the podium, clapping Bilbo’s back. He shooed them off, going so far to even kick Fili’s rump. The prince stuck his tongue at him, rubbing his bum.

“The Company of Thorin Oakenshield, my good friends!” Bilbo called.

The twelve dwarves bowed again, relishing in the encore.

“Finest Dwarves I’ve ever known! However, they’re still better off as minstrels than heroes with how many times I had to save their silly arses!”

Full bellied laughter replaced the cheering. Frodo laughed when Gloin tried to climb back on stage, shaking his fist at Bilbo. Bofur and Bifur pull him down, dragging him to get some more ale and listen to Bilbo’s speech.

He addressed the crowd, greeting relatives and kings alike, welcoming all to his eleventy-first birthday. Frodo didn’t pay much attention, eyes always shifting to Kili a few tables away with his own family—

“…To celebrate my birthday!” Bilbo shouted, met with more cheers. “Actually I should say _our_ birthday. For it is, of course, also the birthday of my heir and nephew, Frodo. He comes of age and into his inheritance today.”

More clapping. Frodo’s cheeks tinted and his back was slapped.

“Apart from this, Frodo is now of age to fulfill our part the contract twenty years ago made with the Elves of the Greenwood.”

_What?_

Frodo was confused. As were several Hobbits, and all the Men and Dwarves. But the Elves and especially the Took and Brandybuck families seemed glad to hear this for some reason.

“Today it is an honor,” Bilbo said, “to announce the eminent engagement of Frodo Baggins and Legolas Thranduilion—”

_WHAT?!_

Any heat Frodo felt from being addressed in Bilbo’s speech vanished.

Engaged? Since _when_?! For…twenty years? Since he was thirteen? Did that mean he was chosen to fulfill this contract he didn’t know of till _now_ after his parents had passed? Was he just the ideal candidate in that case because he was an orphan? Did it also have something to do with his relations to the three wealthiest families in the Shire?

If they were engaged, Frodo realized, then Legolas’ disdain toward him would certainly be justified. And he did seem upset when he figured out that Frodo hadn’t…

Over all, Frodo wondered…

_Why wasn’t I told?!_

Smiling faces staring at him, winking and laughing—all of them seemed demonic.

“Finally!” Bilbo shouted, “I regret to inform you that this is the end! I’m going now! I’ve been here long enough—”

 _No you don’t you old tomnoddy_ , Frodo thought, teeth grinding.

“Goodbye!”

Bilbo grinned at the crowd and vanished, startling everyone. Frodo snuck away, trying to ignore the others as people shouted his name and Bilbo’s. Once free of the crowd, he ran toward Bag End.

“…And he lived happily ever after to the end of his—”

“Don’t you _dare_ leave without explaining to me what in all creation is going on!” Frodo shouted, the gate banging behind him. “What stunt was that?! I’m _engaged_ to a rather ill mannered _Elf_ and have been for nearly _twenty bloody years_?!”

Bilbo seized Frodo’s shirt, dragging him inside. “How dare you raise your voice at me, Boy? I thought we were past _that_!”

“What do you expect? That I’m just going to roll over when you dump something like that on me? ‘Roll over, Frodo. Good boy. Here’s a doggy biscuit.’”

“You are acting like a child!”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Frodo demanded. The mark Kili left on his neck burned. “Why do you always insist on lying to me, Bilbo? And keeping bloody secrets?!”

“I _didn’t_ keep this secret, Frodo,” Bilbo snapped. “What fool would keep this secret from you? It was not something I could just talk to you about over tea! And I did try, Frodo, to tell you, but you seemed to either be half asleep or completely elsewhere when you were old enough to understand!”

“What do you mean?”

Bilbo crossed his arms.

“How many times had you gone out drinking with your friends since you reached your tweens? How many times were you sneaking back home covered in twigs and mud after getting into another fight in the middle of a cornfield? Most of those days, I was _trying_ to discuss this with you, but no! Master Frodo Baggins was far too important to sit down and listen when it came down to it! Apparently, when I finally _did_ get an actual chance to talk to you about it, six months ago, you were not listening to me _again_! Damn it, Frodo!”

Frodo bit his lip. Six months ago?

_“Sit down, Lad.”_

_“What’s going on, Bilbo?”_

_“We need to talk, you see, twenty years ago…”_

Of course Frodo would have tuned Bilbo out then, pretending to listen when he had something he deemed better to do. Six months ago…wasn’t that when he was going to vacation in Bree with Sam, Reginard, Fatty, Halfred, Tolman, and Merry and he was patiently waiting for Bilbo to shut up long enough to go pack and meet them just off Bagshot Row?

He remembered having waved Bilbo off.

_“Alright, Uncle. I understand.”_

He must have convinced Bilbo that he had really listened to him. Frodo sat down. “I can’t marry him, Bilbo.”

“Frodo, it was agreed on twenty years ago.”

“Why me? There are plenty of Hobbits—”

“Thranduil requested you personally,” Bilbo said. “The Elvenking believed he was honoring our family in selecting you as a spouse for his son himself even before he knew of your lineage. I’m afraid one does not reject a request from such a powerful king lightly, Frodo. Not even his own son would dare challenge him. Legolas wasn’t sure what to think of you until the Wood Elves arrived. If he has been ill mannered toward you thus far, it may be because of that mark on your neck. Yes, I see it, Frodo. You’ll need to hide it better than _that—_ ”

“Bilbo, if you intend to go, you should do so now,” Gandalf said.

“I don’t love him, Bilbo.”

“That is something you’ll need to work on with _him_ yourself.”

“Bilbo, I love Kili,” Frodo said. “Please, don’t make me marry Legolas.”

Bilbo sighed, shoulders slumping. “I care for Kili as though he were my own child, much like how I love you, Frodo. But I will never approve of a Dwarf. Not after what I went through with Thorin. Especially if that Dwarf has the blood of Durin flowing through his veins.”

“Kili isn’t his uncle!”

“I know he isn’t, Frodo. And I know it is not fair. But just because he is _not_ his uncle does not mean that he will not succumb to the same madness that nearly killed me. It is in his blood and half the time I look at him, though he is not like his uncle, the resemblance between them is remarkable.”

He tucked a stray strand of hair behind Frodo’s ear. “The Shire needs the protection Thranduil offered and they need our expertise in gardening. The forest is still sick in some places, Frodo, and will remain 'Mirkwood' for as long as it is sick. We are able to find healthy ground and cultivate it to grow food. For this trade to take place, a marriage must convene between the two peoples. I cannot be sorrier than I am right now, Lad. A part of me wishes you had just _listened_ to me before and we wouldn’t have had this mess!”

He fixed his bag. “Now I really must be off. If you need to reach me, I’ll be in Rivendell for the time being.”

He cupped Frodo’s cheek. “I love you, my boy. And Legolas will be a fine husband, I promise. It will get better, though it does not seem so right now.”

He pressed a kissed into Frodo’s forehead. “ _Guren_ _níniatha n'i lû n'i a-govenitham_.”*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "My heart shall weep until I see you again," Sindarin  
> http://www.arwen-undomiel.com/elvish/phrases.html


	5. Chapter 5

Handing the gifts out alone had proven difficult.

He wished Bilbo had not just up and left him to handle all this on his own.

The Dwarves who had been guests in Bag End left early in the morning. He doesn’t blame them. Well, it was more likely he _couldn’t_ blame them. Frodo only wished Kili would have at least stayed so they could talk. He wished he had not been so arrogant as a tween and _listened_ to Bilbo.

Perhaps then none of this would have happened. Perhaps then, he wouldn’t find Legolas so repulsive in his manners. Gandalf stayed, at least, fending off the worst of them, though the insults managed to cut deep.

 _I didn’t know_ , he thought each time, curled in a ball under his bed covers on the worst days, _I didn’t know. I swear I didn’t._

“Frodo?” He heard his bedroom door creak open. “You must come outside and get some fresh air.”

“Why? I can’t deal with them right now.”

“At least come out and have some tea, Frodo,” Gandalf insisted. “But you can’t hole up in your room for the rest of your life.”

“But they’re right.”

“They are not. You’re infidelity was committed in ignorance…”

“That doesn’t change that I had been unfaithful.”

No answer. So the wizard had nothing to say for once. He felt Gandalf’s weight at the edge of his bed.

“I understand that the situation you are in is less than favorable,” Gandalf said. “It is also unique. You are too honest and too good to be cruel in any way. Personally, I never liked the concept of arranged marriages. It takes the choice of falling in love away. Nor do I like Bilbo’s disapproval of Kili. Falling in love is not something that can be helped. Your case is rather unique as you were engaged to an Elf without knowing you were. And you fell in love with a Dwarf before you knew about the promised union between the Mirkwood and the Shire.”

“It would have been better if I just listened.”

“You should have been listening to Bilbo regardless of what he had to tell you. It is the only thing I find troubling with the young: they simply do not know how to listen to their elders. You simply assume that the era they were young in is vastly different from yours. Love, though, you can always trust the old to know what they’re talking about when it is about love.”

Frodo didn’t respond, only curling up further into his sheets.

“Kili loves you. And Legolas loves you. Some think you must choose.”

“It wouldn’t matter. I’m damned either way.”

“You don’t _have_ to choose. Make them understand that you will have them both.”

“Will that work?”

“I don’t know. I hope it does. You will be legally bound to Legolas. But you’ve already given your heart to Kili.”

Frodo sighed. “Is it not true, though, that Dwarves are fiercely possessive of those they love?”

He pushed the covers off him. The air was cool to his hot skin and hi hair dripped with sweat. “I do not believe Kili will accept that arrangement even if Legolas is open to it. And from what I’ve seen of Legolas so far, I do not think he’d be any more likely to accept it either. They’ll make me choose even though it seems the choice has been made already. And if I choose Kili, my relatives will think I’m being selfish.”

Gandalf studied him. “You know, interspecies couples have existed in the past. Beren and Luthien, and Melian and Thingol are two rather famous couples, noted in _the Silmarillion_. Many Men and Elves still follow their example. I also know of a Dwarven tavern keeper whose wife is a Man back in New Dale. Hobbits in Bree also find themselves having relationships with Men. Before the dragon took the mountain, Dwarves and Elves often married as well despite the disdain between the two races. There was one Hobbit and Dwarf I know of who were quite infatuated with each other.”

His eyes twinkled and Frodo huffed.

“It is a pity that relationship fell to ruin,” Gandalf continued. “And you have seen for yourself how deep a Dwarf’s love can be for the one person he falls for. After sixty years, it still amazes me that Thorin still tries to fix what was ruined, even if Bilbo will not have him. Perhaps it is pointless for him to try, but in all these years, I am amazed how deep Thorin’s regret is and how strong his love for Bilbo remains even after all this time. I am also saddened that Bilbo will not forgive him and that he is still terrified of Thorin. I wonder if perhaps the Valar wish to see a union of the Baggins family and the line of Durin. It seems odd that two generation in the same two families could fall in love with each other…Equally odd that both loves are thwarted, either by madness or marriage to another.”

“You have not noted of a Hobbit falling in love with an Elf.”

“Elves are not as secluded as Hobbits, though both races are equally fascinated by the other. It can only be said that Hobbits and Elves have yet to be in each other’s company long enough for a love that could lead to marriage to come about. I have seen many children who are mixed races—they are usually called Half-Elves and they can choose whether or not to have a mortal life or an immortal one. But that is only if they have Elven blood. A Half-Dwarf and Half-Man child will perhaps live as long as his or her Dwarven parent. I wonder what sort of child would come of the union between an Elf and a Hobbit…”

Frodo sighed. “You seem torn between who you’d rather I be with.”

“The choice is not mine. It is yours. I bring up the possibility of children to you because you can have children with Legolas. I hypothesized that someone is moving heaven and earth to try and have you and Kili together because it cannot be a coincidence that two Hobbits and two Dwarves from the same families would fall in love with each other—and yet someone is also determined to restrict such a union between the Baggins family and the line of Durin.

“But the choice is ultimately yours, Frodo. You can marry Legolas which is what is expected of you. You can also defy Bilbo’s wishes and be with Kili. You can choose to be with them both. Or you can have neither of them, break the engagement to Legolas and reject Kili. Those are your choices. None of them seem favorable at the moment, regardless of whether the reasons you have for any of them are selfish or selfless.

“If you expected me to tell you what to do, then I am sorry. My advice today is not the council I would give Kings headed to war or worried over their people. Such advice is easy to give and always clear. Advice in matters of the heart is much harder to give. The answer will never just be yes or no but more often than not it is, ‘Do what feels right.’

“If marrying Legolas feels to be the right thing to do, then you go ahead and marry him. If it is eloping with Kili, then do so. Arranged marriages are wrong, Frodo. It was not fair of Thranduil to name it his price for making trades with the Shire. Nor was it fair of your relatives to agree to it.”

Frodo wiped the tears threatening to escape his eyes with his thumb. “I hate this.”

Gandalf squeezed his damp shoulder. “Come out and eat. It is not right for a Hobbit to go so long without food.”

“It’s only been a few hours.”

“And if Bilbo were still here he’d be frantic with worry. You have to eat, Frodo, even if just a little bit. I will put tea on the kettle while you freshen up.” He left.

Frodo sighed, dragging out of bed and headed to the bathroom. He let the shower heat up as he examined himself in the mirror. His skin was pasty. His eyes red rimmed from crying. His back was slightly hunched over, making him seem smaller. The bruise on his neck was almost gone and he touched the yellowed mark.

He stepped into the shower, bracing himself against the tiled walls and wished that it was possible to drown in the shower. Anything right now seemed better than the situation he was in. It would have been easier if he just left with Bilbo. Disappear, and pretend what happened on his birthday never happened.

He washed thoroughly, refusing to come out until his skin was rubbed pink and his fingers could pass as pink raisins. He donned fresh, loose clothes, and joined Gandalf in the kitchen. The table was set for three. A large platter laden in crackers, cheese, and ham slices lay beside the porcelain tea pot. Steam curled out of the spout.

“Are you expecting someone?”

Gandalf nodded. “Thorin wishes to speak to you.”

Frodo sat beside Gandalf. “I doubt he has anything good or kind to say to me…well, if he is angry with me, it is justified.”

“I am not angry,” the aged Dwarf said, entering the kitchen. “Gandalf had explained what had happened last week. Your indiscretion is being punished enough. You don’t need me yelling at you. Thranduil and I already talked about it and agreed that, as you were clearly ignorant of your betrothal to Prince Legolas, any infidelity on your part and Kili’s will be pardoned.”

Frodo picked up the teapot and poured the steaming liquid into Thorin’s cup. “What now?”

“Now, you fix this.”

Gandalf frowned. “Thorin—”

“I do not agree with this marriage any more than you do, Gandalf,” he said. “Dwarves do not think kindly on a marriage based on politics.”

“But you want me to marry Legolas.”

“I would _rather_ you marry Kili,” Thorin said. “You are his One. My people are certain of it and they will not stand in the way, even if they disapprove. More importantly, Kili is sure of it and I would rather see my nephew happy. However, your betrothal to Legolas came first. You are already bound to him as per agreement between the Shire and Mirkwood. I am sure Gandalf told you that you have options. I wish I could agree, Lad.”

In any other situation, Frodo might have laughed at the Dwarf King drinking anything other than ale or mead. At the moment, watching Thorin Oakenshield drink tea didn’t seem that amusing.

“What you have thrown yourself in, ignorant of it or not, is a scandal.”

Frodo winced.

“I’m glad the seriousness of the situation has not escaped you’re notice,” Thorin added dryly. “There are very few ways to fix it if any way at all. Everyone loves a scandal and if you were brave enough to venture outside, you’d eventually hear it from every wife and grandmother from here to Gondor. They are forming an opinion of you at this very moment and I promise you it is not favorable.

“The Shire and the Mirkwood have been trading with each other for the last twenty years while waiting for you to reach maturity. The Shire offers its knowledge of cultivation in exchange for protection from Men who have been known to attack Hobbits on the road, and Orcs and Goblins.

“It seems to have been a good arrangement and both sides would like for it to continue. If you break your engagement to Legolas to be with Kili, the Shire will lose its most trustworthy source of protection the moment you do so and I will not be able to provide the same protection the Shire is currently offered until Spring. As it is, it would take four months for the guards I could send to get here. The Shire would be unprotected for more than six months. The Rangers can pick up the slack, but the Rangers are still Men, ergo they are not as well trusted or well liked.

“I may agree that your marriage to Legolas is wrong, but I also believe that the Shire cannot be safer than it has been in the last decades. All of your countrymen rely on you to make a decision that is beneficial to all of them. You cannot make this decision with just yourself in mind. I speak to you as a king: your best move is to marry the Elf.”

Frodo stared at his empty plate.

“I will, however, offer you sanctuary in Erebor if Legolas or Thranduil harm you in any way.”

“Like the way you harmed Bilbo?” Frodo bit.

Thorin raised his eyes to Frodo until he bowed his head, wishing he hadn’t said a word. “Frodo, have you seen me with braids in my hair since I came here?”

Frodo glanced up again. Everyone among the company wore braids and beads in their hair. Except Thorin who, though his hair and beard were long, he did not wear a single braid. He shook his head.

“I am paying for my crime against my One,” Thorin said, “And I will continue to pay until my dying breath. Only Bilbo can give me braids again, Frodo. Only Bilbo can give me back my honor. If I have learned anything from coming here, it is that my crime will never be forgiven and so I will live without honor. I have lived so for sixty years now. My people call me good, and so there is honor in that. But without my braids, I am still a disgraced king. It matters not how well I live or good of a king I am.” Thorin sighed. “I love your uncle and I will always love your uncle. But I have lost any trust he had in me and I know now I will never get it back. It is foolish to try if he cannot bear to be in one room alone with me without panicking…without thinking I might harm him again. I may try and promise him I’ll never hurt him, but now I know it is too late.”

He stood, striding for the door.

When Frodo cleared the table an hour later, he noted that small drops of water remained on the table where Thorin had sat. At first, he thought it was spilt tea, but then concluded they were tears.


	6. Chapter 6

Frodo turned Bilbo’s ring in his hand, staring at the gold glow.

“Have you been up all this time?” He turned to Gandalf, who ducked under the banister into the living room. “It is almost midnight.”

“I cannot sleep,” he admitted. “Sometimes I just want to…put this on and disappear.” The gold band glimmered orange in the firelight.”

“People may think you have been unwise, Frodo but you’ve never been a fool.”

“I feel like one.”

“I cannot soothe how you feel about yourself. But I will say that it is unwise to use the ring in such a manner and if you think it’d be better than the _supposed_ disgrace you caused, you are greatly mistaken. Especially since both Kings of the harmed parties have pardoned you. Believe this: running away is not the solution and, I told Bilbo this the night he left, there are many magic rings in this world, Frodo. Not one should be used lightly. The easy solutions are usually the wrong ones. Now put it away.”

“Where? My pocket?”

“I suggest an envelope and place it in Bilbo’s trunk.”

Frodo turned to him, brow furrowed. “Why?”

“I have grown suspicious of it—but I will explain more to you when my suspicions are no longer suspicions but facts.”

He stared at the ring for a little longer before standing and sliding it into an envelope, sealing it with wax. He tucked it into the trunk in the hallway outside Bilbo’s study.

“I decided to marry Legolas,” he said, returning to the living room. Gandalf hummed, pulling his pipe out and a bag of Old Toby. He fill the bell and lit the dry leaves inhaling.

“Why?”

“I thought about what Thorin said. I might be at halves on how to think of him and how to approach him, but he’s right. I think if he could have broken my betrothal to Legolas so I could be with Kili he would have. But he made it clear that I can’t think about this with myself in mind. I’m not happy with it. Not by a long shot I wish to the goddess someone just put their foot down and say no to Thranduil, but I suppose refusing him is as easy as standing up to Thorin.”

“Only one person I know of could have done that.”

“I know. But he didn’t…it doesn’t matter now. I just don’t know how I’m going to tell Kili. I don’t know if he even wants to see me.”

“You’d be surprised. Kili was forbidden to see you until you made a decision,” Gandalf said, blowing a smoke ring. He could make anything out of smoke. Butterflies, flowers, ships, birds…but not tonight. Tonight, they were simple smoke rings.

Frodo wasn’t in the mood for the smoke shapes Gandalf made anyway, though he was always fascinated by them.

“Because they didn’t want Legolas or Kili pressing me to sway one or the other, I guess.”

“That is exactly why. Are you frightened of Kili?”

“Right now, yes.”

“I cannot say he will not be heartbroken by your choice. But the worst of his anger has passed.”

“It might come back.”

“Thorin prepared him well enough,” Gandalf said. Another smoke ring floated in the air. “He will stand by your decision. If he has truly given you his heart, he will never love another as deeply as he will love you. You will have his support in whatever path you choose. And his bow should you need protection.”

“Will I have his friendship, though?”

“Before you realized you loved Kili, were you friends?”

Frodo nodded.

“Then assume that it has not. A lot has changed in such a short time, but that may be the one thing that has not.”

Frodo sighed, hugging his legs to his chest and laying his chin on top of his knees.

“Will it get easier?”

“That is up to you. Not to Kili and not to Legolas.”

The fire crackled and burst. Red embers jumped in the hearth. Frodo stood. “I’ll try to sleep, then.”

“Good night, Frodo.”

“Good night.”

#

It was difficult to ignore the dark stares burrowing into him as Frodo entered the Dwarves’ camp grounds. Gandalf stood beside him, guiding him to Thorin’s tent. The tent flap was tied open. Thorin, Fili, Kili, and Balin sat around a square table, peering over a map. A lone candle resting in a candle holder flickered in the dark tent.

“…likely that we’ll make it back before winter sets in,” Balin said. “Durin’s Day is in two weeks and winter will approach fast after that.”

“We are not going to Erebor until the winter passes. However, we can take refuge it to Ered Luin and stay there for the season and in the Spring return to Erebor,” Fili suggested. “Would that be suitable Uncle—”

Gandalf cleared his throat. The quartet looked up. All save Kili stood and filed out. Balin patted Frodo’s shoulder, giving him a gentle squeeze.

His legs felt heavy as he walked into the tent. Once inside, the flap was loosened behind him and fell closed.

“You’ve made your choice?”

“Yes.”

“And it’s not me.”

Frodo’s tongue felt thick. He stared at the ground and, slowly, nodded.

“I thought that’d be the choice you’d make. It’s the most logical of the choices you had before you.” _Thorin told me that is what I should expect_ was left unsaid, but heavily implied.

He couldn’t look at Kili. How could he? He was scared of what he’d see, whether it was anger or sorrow. Or—and Frodo was more frightened of _this_ —indifference.

“Are you going to say anything?” Kili demanded.

Frodo tensed, daring to look up. He almost swallowed his words from the intensity of Kili’s eyes. At least he wasn’t indifferent toward Frodo. Rather, he looked like a beaten dog. Frodo felt his heart breaking again.

“What would you have me say?” he asked. “What could I say that would make any of this okay? I didn’t _know_ , Kili. I know that sounds…indescribably stupid, but I really didn’t know. If I had, do you really think I’d have allowed you to kiss me? Do you really think I’m _capable_ of such cruelty?”

“No. I don’t. Not intentionally, at least. You’re too sweet to even consider _thinking_ of such cruelty let alone act on it.”

“I am sorry.”

“I know you are. And I hate this. I hate that I have to watch you marry an Elf for the sake of a trade agreement, treated no better than a price that needs to be paid! I hate that Thranduil has set a price that is so…it’s twisted! You were _thirteen_ when the treaty was made! _Thirteen!!_ Thranduil had no right to demand that a Hobbit marry his son! He didn’t even _have_ to make such a clause!”

“I hate it as much as you do! I _wish_ I could say I can choose you! If I didn’t have to think about the Shire, I would have chosen you! Hang Bilbo’s approval, I would have chosen you! But I can’t! I c—”

Frodo’s legs were about to collapse beneath him and his tongue was nearly bitten as his mouth clamped shut. Kili jumped out of seat, catching Frodo before he fell. Frodo pressed his face into Kili’s chest, unable to stop his tears.

“I love you, _Zundushel_ ,” Kili whispered in Frodo’s hair, combing his fingers through the locks. “My bird, my One…I love you and this…this whole _predicament_ is killing me.”

He tightened his grip on Kili’s tunic, breathing shakily, hoping it was all just a very long, detailed, insane nightmare and when he woke up, it would be the morning of his birthday again.

He could wake up, perhaps see if Kili truly did love him as he had hoped, and this time there wouldn’t be any problems. No Elves with previous claims. No arranged marriage.

Just the freedom that was so cruelly ripped like a carpet from under his feet, leaving him stumbling.

“I love you too, Kili. I love _you_.”

Kili’s fingers close into a grip into his hair, pulling his head back. Kili’s lips press against his, firm and demanding. The other arm, wrapped around Frodo’s waist, pulls him closer. Too soon, the kiss breaks.

Frodo, though far from ready to leave, steps out of Kili’s embrace and leave the tent. He wants to look behind—to look at Kili one last time. He doesn’t, rubbing his eyes, his nose, and his mouth. His weeping would keep him from being suspected of having kissed Kili at all. Gandalf met him at the large willow tree along the riverbank.

“Oh, Frodo,” Gandalf sighed, hugging him. “Shall we go home?”

Frodo nodded. “I’ll…I’ll talk to Legolas when I’m a little more…presentable.”

The walk back to Bag End felt longer than usual. Frodo kept his gaze on the ground, letting Gandalf lead him. He wanted to crawl under the covers again. Wanted nothing to do with the outside world…

“Would you like to eat when we get home?”

Frodo sniffed. “Not really…I know I should, but…I’m just not hungry.”

“Something light then,” Gandalf said. He stopped. Were they back already? Frodo looked up.

Legolas stood outside Bag End, staring at the door.

Something akin to fire built up inside Frodo on seeing the Elf prince. It gave him his strength back and tried to encroach on his mind. Frodo beat it down long enough to walk past Legolas toward the door.

Legolas followed after him. “Frodo—”

He sped up, wrenching the door open. It shut with a clang. He hoped Legolas bumped his nose. He knew it was terribly rude, but Frodo didn’t care. He wondered if he locked the door, but pushed it aside, closing his bedroom door, locked it, and leaned against it, giving into the fresh wave of tears.

Frodo slid down, tucking his legs underneath him.

“Frodo?” The voice had to be Legolas. “Frodo, please. Let me explain. Let me in.”

Frodo clapped his hands over his ears. He can’t talk to Legolas when he feels like this: so full of unhindered rage that he can’t even think straight.

After a while, he could think, but dared not move. He laid his hands in his lap, leaning against the door.

“Frodo?”

So he was still outside the door.

Frodo inhaled shakily. “I made my choice and I will honor our betrothal,” he said. “Do not expect me to be happy with it.” No reply.

“I wanted to come here…to the Shire…long before now. Our betrothal was not favorable to me either at first. My father would not listen when I tried to urge him to change his mind. He would not…so I resigned myself and asked him to let me come here to see you so that we both could get used to the idea of…of being married to each other one day. He would not allow it…probably because you were still underage. I wrote you…but I…you never got my letters, did you?”

“If I did, do you think I would have been so openly affectionate with Kili? No. I never got any letters. And as angry as I am at Bilbo these days, I doubt he’d have kept them from me. He seemed rather excited by the whole idea of having an _Elf_ in the family.”

He heard a thump against the wood. “I will not enter a loveless marriage, Frodo.”

“Pity.”

“I wish to court you. For as long as it takes.”

“Why does it matter whether you court me or not? We’re already engaged. I’ll have to accept whatever courtship you offer, right. Why should it matter to either of us?”

“Because it’s only fair.”

“You’ve a lot of nerve to talk about what’s fair,” Frodo growled. “Go ahead and court me if you wish. It won’t make any real difference.”

“Thank you.”

Frodo didn’t know why Legolas was thanking him. At the moment, he couldn’t fathom ever loving him. It would just be best to have them marry and get it over with.


	7. Chapter 7

October has nearly ended when the last of the guests left the Shire’s borders. Where they’d go to wait out the Winter months, Frodo could not say.

All he knew was that Legolas remained in Bag End with him. As far as anyone was concerned, it was completely appropriate for Legolas to stay with Frodo.

They were all but legally married anyway…At least that was how most of the Shire saw it.

Frodo, however, tried to avoid his fiancé as much as possible in the following three weeks.

Once early on, he went as far as hiding at the Sackville-Bagginses for an afternoon. (Frodo found Lobelia’s cordiality rather off and Otho patted his shoulder, muttering about how _old fashioned_ Bilbo was in arranging a marriage. Lotho, on the other hand, seemed awfully curious about Legolas. In the end, Frodo decided to never go there _willingly_ again. It was much too odd.)

“It can’t be _all_ bad,” Sam said at the Dragon on the third Friday evening of Legolas’ stay. “He’s nice enough and the ladies adore him.”

“Of course the ladies _adore_ him!” Frodo snapped, leaning onto the table, scowling at the mug in his hands. “He’s an Elven Prince. What’s not to _adore_?”

“I get you’re still bitter about your engagement, but you did _agree_ to marry him in the end, Mr. Frodo. The least you can do is _try_ to be kind to him. He’s not all bad.”

Frodo sighed. “He’s not bad at all. Once the whole… _incident_ blew over, he’s quite…charming, I suppose…but he’s not who I want and he’s not who I love.”

“Do you think you might be able to love him some day?”

“Could you see such a future if you were in my place?” Frodo snapped. “Engaged to marry someone other than Rose? Could you imagine even having a _semblance_ of a real life that didn’t seem like being caged?” His eyes pricked and he blinked, trying to keep them at bay.

“No. I can’t. But then again, I’ve never been brave enough to ask her to go on a _walk_ with me, let alone be as bold as…well…”

“Kili?”

“Yes. Either way, there may be nothing in it for me and Rose anyway…”

“There _would_ be if you’d just _ask_.”

Sam glared at Frodo. “I know you fancy yourself my wingman, Frodo, but you’re more a nuisance when you’re trying to set me and Rose up. Besides, I know what you’re doing and it’s not going to work. You are _not_ going to divert attention off your mess of a love life and focus on _mine._ Is that _clear_?”

“Wow,” Frodo scoffed. “You’re rather aggressive when it suits you, Samwise Gamgee.”

“And don’t you forget it. I know I’m not one to give advice, but theoretically you _need_ to talk to Mr. Legolas. Maybe you’ll understand more about each other if you do. Gaffer always said that marriage is like a garden. Without tending, weeds take over and the garden dies. Right now, there are definitely some nasty weeds in your garden.”

“I can’t.”

“It can’t be _that_ hard to talk to him. Everyone sees he likes you. He’ll listen.”

“ _I can’t_ , Sam. I just _can’t_. Every time I see him I just…I hate him, Sam. And I hate Bilbo and Thranduil and…” He sighed. “I can’t look at him without getting angry.”

“Then get angry.” They stared at Rose. Sam turned crimson and stared at the table scooting closer to the wall to make room for her as she sat down beside him. “Sorry. I overheard and I couldn’t just stay silent any longer, Mr. Frodo.”

He took a drink.

“Look, you’re going to marry him. You agreed to marry him for whatever reason. You _have_ to find a way to get along with him or you’ll _both_ be miserable. So go ahead and get angry and that alone will spark a conversation. You can’t keep avoiding him. You may as well get it out on the table with _him_ rather than talk to me and Sam about it because you’re just going to get angrier and angrier until you explode and if it may be at the exact wrong moment. Now, that’s all I’m going to say and I don’t want to see you in my Papa’s bar until you’ve gone and talked to him. Or, well, yelled.” She stood. “I best get back to work.”

They watched her leave.

“Force to be reckoned with, she is,” Frodo muttered.

Sam nodded, still blushing and tongue-tied.

“How real is her threat? You think she’d actually…go through with it?”

Sam nodded again.

“Then I best be off before she has me bodily removed. Fair thee well, Green Dragon! I may not see you again!”

“Oh you’ll be back,” Sam said, smirking. “You’ll just not be around when Rosie is.”

“Which is?”

“Oh. Well, never mind.”

“Fuck you, Sam,” Frodo muttered, laying down a few coins for their drinks. “Buy another round on me. For _courage,_ Sam.”

Sam grinned, raising his mug in mock salute before drinking it. Frodo left, stuffing his hands in his pockets before trekking back to Bag End. The lights are on, assuring him that the hearth is lit.

Legolas is home. And Frodo doesn’t want to go inside. He sighs, bracing himself. He wonders if he can avoid Legolas on his way in and make it to his bedroom undetected.

 _Worth a try_ , he decides, walking up the steps to Bag End’s front door and entering the house. The door creaks. Wincing, he swings the door open wider and steps inside, closing it gently. Slamming doors would not do him any good, even if it’s what he wants to do.

“You’re home late.”

 _I’m always home late_ , he almost bites back, deciding, instead, to grind his teeth and say nothing.

“Where have you been? The tavern?”

“What of it?!”

Legolas arches an eyebrow. “I am not angry, Frodo—”

“You should be!” Frodo shouts.

Legolas blinks and Frodo’s fury overcomes him. He _wants_ to hurt Legolas. Make him feel as angry and hurt as he feels.

“You should be angry! You should hate me as much as I hate you! Yes, I _hate_ you! I despise you! I would rather the Shire burn than be with you—”

“Then why did you agree to honor our betrothal? Was it not for the Shire’s benefit that you agreed to marry me?”

 _How_ dare _he?! How can he still be so fucking calm?!_

Frodo seized a glass figurine, aiming to throw it at Legolas. His arm does not throw and his hand does not release. Legolas approaches, prying the figurine out of Frodo’s hand and setting it back on the table. He kneels, cupping Frodo’s face.

“I already know you hate me. But we are to marry someday. Can we at least be friends, Frodo, if you will not have me as your lover? I don’t think I will ever see you look at me the way you looked at Kili…I will not lie: it breaks my heart. I do not blame Kili for falling in love with you. You are _beautiful_ and you are too kind, Frodo, despite your desire to hurt me right now. When I saw you for the first time in the Market with Bilbo two months ago, I knew I could come to love you one day.”

He sighed, wiping away Frodo’s tears with his thumb. “I am _not_ the one to blame, though,” he continued. “I told you I did not like our betrothal any more than you at first. But I had the time to adjust and accept it. I cannot say I love you. But I certainly am less revolted as I used to be by our engagement. I do not know why our families agreed to this. Nor do I understand why your uncle would have agreed at all! But he has and the agreement is being honored, regardless what you feel for me. But at the very least, could you please stop running from me? We are in this together. The least you can do is talk to me about what troubles you.”

Frodo bit his lip, eyes averted toward the floor. His tears still flowed, spilling past Legolas’ fingers. “Why me? I wasn’t even of age! Why did your father choose me?”

“I don’t know. Maybe it had to do with Bilbo was the only Hobbit he knew and could actually say he respected…but I don’t know, Frodo. I just don’t.” Legolas laced his fingers through Frodo’s hair, playing with the curls. “I like you, Frodo. And I know this is hard on you as much as it is on me…”

Frodo didn’t know why he found Legolas’ hand in his hair so soothing. It just…it _was._ Equally surprising to him was that he leaned forward, resting his forehead on Legolas’ shoulder, gripping his tunic.

There was literally nothing left that Frodo could say. He _chose_ Legolas. He just didn’t know how to live with his choice when who he really wanted, at the moment, was in Ered Luin waiting out the winter when he should have been _here_ with Frodo.

He was lifted off the floor and felt Legolas sink into the armchair usually reserved for Gandalf, shifted to sit on Legolas’ lap like a child who skinned his knee or bumped his head.

“I will make it right,” Legolas whispered. “I will try to make it right.”

Frodo shook his head.

“Save your empty promises,” he rasped. “There is _nothing_ you can do to make any of this right.”

Legolas’ grip tightens just a little, pulling Frodo closer. He continues to stroke Frodo’s hair, pulling at the curls gently and wrapping them around his finger. “Not now, certainly, but at least give me a chance to prove myself, Frodo.”

Frodo winced. _Give him a chance? How am I to do that when I can’t even_ stand _his presence?_ In the end, he agreed, nodding. He didn’t have any choice but to make the best of it.

#

Only when the table had been set and Frodo sat down at the table did he realize he made a breakfast _far_ too big for one Hobbit…he shrugged, deciding if Legolas wanted any of it, he could have it. Otherwise, second breakfast simply need to be reheated.

He had finished spreading marmalade on a slice of toast when the Elf entered, half awake and yawning, but clean, dressed, and pristine.

Frodo stared. “Did you…sleep?”

“Why wouldn’t I sleep?” Legolas asked, pouring himself a cup of tea with three spoons of sugar.

“I thought that…Elves didn’t sleep…”

“Well, we don’t _have_ to sleep, but it’s relaxing for us as much as it is for any of the other races. If I have the opportunity to sleep, then I will.” He bit into a slice of buttered toast. “The only issue I have with it is it takes me a little while to wake up. When I was little, I ended up putting my clothes on backwards once. Being a child, I got away with it…”

Frodo smiled into his cup. That was actually…rather cute. “I’ve never seen an Elf-child before.”

“An Elf’s childhood only lasts fifty years,” Legolas clarifies, “and our people don’t marry until about a century old. Being immortal gives us reasons to take our time…some of us prefer not to tie ourselves down to a lover. And some of us have more than one.”

Frodo frowned. “I don’t know how we went from talking about children to how many lovers an Elf could have.”

“Your right. I apologize for going off topic It’s been a long time since I was a child myself, but there are a few children in Mirkwood. They never leave the forest. And some in Rivendell. You simply need to know where to look.”

“Huh.”

“And I know you’re curious now about the lover situation.”

Frodo nodded. Such an arrangement would fix everything about his situation.

“It’s rare, but not unheard of, for an Elf to have two lovers. Such unions are called triads…the thing is, a triad is only valid when all three partners are in love with each other, so…other times, it’s the solution for when two partners who cannot have children decide to marry another who can have children with them.”

Frodo stared at him. “But only if all three partners feel love for the other. If it doesn’t work out that way though?”

“The unappreciated partner will fade if the situation is not rectified.”

 _Oh_.

“I know you think such a thing could be a solution, Frodo, but there are a couple problems: one, Dwarves are a jealous bunch. I do not see Kili being able to accept it as an adequate solution. And two: can you, at this time, promise me that I would not be cast aside?”

Frodo blinked, staring at him. He did not love Legolas. Nor did Legolas love him. As far as either were concerned, their marriage could not work without some effort. “No. Not at this time.”

Legolas nodded. “I thought so.”


	8. Chapter 8

After they had eaten, Legolas ventured outside. Where he went, Frodo could not say, but he wished the Elf had stayed so that he could answer more of his questions about “triads.” He could make no promises now, but someday perhaps…

 _Would it be possible for me to love them both?_ Frodo pondered, arms soaked in soapy water as he washed the dishes. _Or will I find myself having to choose between them again?_

He wished he hadn’t busied himself with cleaning. It left him far too deep in his thoughts. Still, things needed to be done and they wouldn’t do themselves. He might as well do them himself instead of lay around being unproductive.

He didn’t notice the rain until the door closed while he was dusting the bookshelves. The squish of shoes on his floor made him abandon the dusting and confront Legolas.

“You _better_ take those off!” he snapped.

Legolas blinked, then stared at his shoes.

“Yes," Frodo said. "You’re shoes! I just cleaned the floor, so don’t you _dare_ track water and—is that _mud_?!”

Legolas paused, staring at the soles of his boots. “It is.”

Frodo huffed crossing his arms. “Where did you _go_?”

“The woods for a walk. I didn’t expect it to rain—don’t look at me like that, I’m not a cat! I can’t predict the weather and curl up by the fire whenever it smells like it might rain. If I could, I would have taken my cloak. I came back as soon as the rain started to fall.”

Frodo lifted his gaze from the muddy boots to Legolas’ face. His hair was dripping wet, curling at the ends, and his clothes soaked through, completely drenched and sticking to his skin. Frodo sighed, relaxing his shoulders.

“Take your shoes off and get some fresh clothes. I’ll start a bath for you.”

“You don’t—”

“Regardless whether or not we’ll marry, you are my guest. I may as well start acting like a host before things go awry and someone gets it into their head to write Bilbo about how it’s been the last few weeks. I’d rather he not march back here just to tan my hide for being a poor host.” That said, he entered the second bathroom near Legolas' room.

 _Funny how I’m worried more about being a good host than a good husband_ , he thought as he warmed the water in the Man-sized bathtub. (Bilbo had installed many Man-sized things for when Gandalf visited them over the years.) _I wonder if it’s just easier to think of it_ that _way for now._

Once as full as it could be and a fresh towel laid aside for him, Frodo left, allowing Legolas to bathe in privacy while he made a late lunch for the both of them. Stew sounded good…especially on a day as dreary as today had become, with the weather being as unfavorable as it had become.

Frodo glanced out the window after having shut it and wiped away the rainwater that drenched the counter. The skies were dark grey. Rain pattered overhead and beat against the windowpanes. Mothers and fathers were running by, rushing their children inside.

He stepped away from the window and gathered what he’d need to make the stew—a flank of beef, flour, salt, pepper…It would take a little while to make, but by the time it would be ready, Legolas would be out of the bath and dry.

And most likely famished.

Frodo paused, staring at the ingredients before him.

Do elves eat meat? He didn’t care before and Frodo was a tad surprised it came to light _now._

Resigned, and slightly embarrassed, he knocked on the door tentatively. “Legolas, erm, this is an odd question, but I’m making lunch right now…do you eat meat?”

Water stirred within, splashing against the porcelain. “What kind?” he asked, voice echoing off the walls and slightly muffled by the door.

“Beef.”

“Yes.”

Frodo walked away, face burning yet relieved. He _never_ wanted to do that again if he could help it. He reminded himself he hadn’t ventured _into_ the bathroom to ask his question, but…the image of a wet and naked Elf lounging in the tub was…admittedly, rather distracting.

_That’s quite enough of that!_

He threw himself into making beef stew. It was better to concentrate on making a satisfactory meal rather than let it all fall to pieces because he was distracted by the idea of an Elf lounging in a bathtub down the hall.

An Elf who, despite what he felt, really was quite handsome.

An Elf he was meant to marry.

Frodo groaned, pausing for a moment to slouch over the table, trying to calm down. _I don’t love him_ , Frodo reminded himself with a deep sigh before he got back to work.

He set the table, setting the pot in the center and Legolas entered the room, his hair was dry and braided, draping his shoulder like a golden rope. His dry white tunic flowed off his shoulders. The cut of the collar revealed his clavicle and the V-line at the center, with fine string strung through it, showed the definition of his sternum down the middle of his chest. His brown breeches were, in contrast to the white tunic, nearly skin tight cut off at the feet, slightly smaller than Frodo’s and certainly narrower.

And completely hairless.

“Thank you,” Legolas said. “For the bath. And lunch.”

“Ah, yes,” Frodo blushed again, sitting down. “It’s ready if you’re hungry.”

Legolas sat across from him, dishing the stew into his bowl. Once he had finished serving himself, Frodo filled his own bowl and they ate in an awkward silence. Frodo stared at his food as he ate, unsure what to say to Legolas or even if there was anything they could talk about.

He seemed unaffected by what Frodo had said to him last night. And somehow he felt better after having said it. Though now, he knew, it was unjustified. Legolas didn’t choose him either, but he had a longer time to adjust to the idea of being married to a Hobbit than Frodo did to being an Elf.

He already excused Legolas’ rudeness on his birthday nearly a month and a half ago. If anything, it must have taken him much restraint that day not to attack Kili.

The Elves of Mirkwood were certainly more foolhardy than the Elves of Rivendell, if Frodo noticed anything between the two. If not for the presence of Dwarves, the more scholarly High Elves of Rivendell would probably have soon been at odds with the battle hardened Wood Elves of Mirkwood.

“What…what did you hope to have happen when you first came here?”

Legolas’ paused, spoon halfway to his mouth. He lowered it, staring at Frodo.

“Well,” he leaned on the table. “I did not expect you to run into my arms or anything like that, but I did think you’d have known about our engagement and that you’d respect it as I had. I thought that when you didn’t come seeking me out on your own that you simply were obeying our elders’ wish that we not meet until you were of age. It never occurred to me that you didn’t know.

“Though, I suppose I should have guessed your ignorance when you never responded to the letters I sent. Instead I assumed you were just as angry as I was about our engagement and that you’d respond when you were more able to accept it.

“We hadn’t even met and when I saw you kissing Kili and letting him touch you, I felt such a jealousy as I’ve never felt. When I realized you didn’t know…that you never knew…”

In the light, it was easier to see the hurt on Legolas’ face more clearly. The same hurt Frodo had overlooked at his and Bilbo’s birthday party.

 _Of course he’d be hurt_ , Frodo thought. _I’d be hurt too if our places were reversed…but regardless what I thought of him?_

“You’ve said you don’t love me, but…could that possibly be a lie?” Legolas did not respond for a long time.

“I don’t think many can say what they thought their spouse would be like lived up to their expectations," Legolas began after a long, thick silence. "If I did love you, it wasn’t _you_. It was a phantom haunting my dreams once I was used to the idea of having a Hobbit for a husband. Your desire to hide from me does not make it easy for me to fall in love with the _real_ you.”

“Well what do you expect?” Frodo snapped, bristling. “I’ve only just started to accept _this_ last night!”

“After one outburst?”

“I’m sure there will be others. I said I’m starting to _accept_ it. Not that I’m falling in love with you. And certainly not with a ‘phantom of you.’”

“Of course not,” Legolas replied bitterly, stirring his stew. “That would be a Dwarf you fancy yourself in love with.”

Frodo stood, slamming his palms on the table.

“Yes. I _am_ in love with a Dwarf. If you think me unfaithful, remember that _I don’t want to marry you_. I don’t have a choice! If I was sure that the Shire can go _six months_ without the protection your father provides, I’d have chosen Kili! Most days I wish I just damned it all and chosen Kili anyway!”

He strode out of the kitchen, heading toward his room.

He did not know that Legolas had followed him, until a strong hand grabbed his shoulder and pinned him against a wall, at least three feet high off the ground. Legolas crashed his mouth to Frodo’s.

Frodo tensed. He clawed at the hands holding him in place, trying to pry Legolas off. The Elf was stronger than he looked. Frodo hadn’t enough room to kick him. His eyes pricked with unshed tears. He bit Legolas’ lip with as much force as he could.

Legolas yelped, dropping him and Frodo landed on his bum, which throbbed from the impact. His bones seemed to vibrate within his body, but not enough to break or sprain

“ _You little_ _Orc_!” Legolas swore, wiping the blood off his lip.

Frodo was too enraged to move, glaring at him. He hoped Legolas fought. At least then, perhaps…he didn’t know what he expected would happen.

He couldn’t beat Legolas at strength or swiftness.

Stealth was his best bet in a fight against an Elf.

The anger dissipated from Legolas’ face. “Frodo?”

Frodo spat at him, climbing to his feet despite how his bones still ached. He limped back to his room.

“I’m sorry. Frodo, I’m sorry.”

Frodo paused only to let Legolas’ words register. He turned around to face him.

“I will _never_ love you,” He declared.

He didn’t know if it was true. He didn’t care. He just wanted to _hurt_ Legolas. He wanted him to know how deeply he himself was hurt.

All Frodo cared for at the moment was to see Legolas break. He wanted to see that heartbroken look on his face again and rejoice because he _could_ know what Frodo felt. _Could_ know that this engagement was torturous and maybe even convince his father to call it off.

Frodo took a shaky breath, and _more bloody tears_ fell down his cheeks.

“ _I will never love you_ ,” he repeated with more finality.

“Then why do you weep?” Legolas asked, reaching toward Frodo, who flinched. He pulled his hand away and knelt. “You’re not capable of hate, Frodo. Even if you say it, and maybe you feel such deep anger you think it is hate, but you aren’t capable of real hate. I’ve _seen_ hate, Frodo. This…you can tear me down as much as you like, but from what I’ve seen so far you will always cry when you do so because it hurts you to say such things. I feel you’d act completely different than you have as of lately if you really hated me. What you say to me hurts more than I let on. _I am your husband!_ Of course when you say you love Kili and hate me I will be hurt. Even when I know what you say is a lie, I am hurt.”

Frodo leaned against the wall, arms crossed. He is not satisfied. He feels worse. He feels guilt.

Legolas crawled to him, carefully reaching out to his cheek, wiping his tears away. He tries to kiss him again, but Frodo turns head away from him so if he were to be kissed, it would only be his cheek. He pulls away instead.

“I want to love you, Frodo. I want our marriage to work. I want _us_ to work.”

Frodo pulled away, ashamed. _I tried_ , he thought, closing his bedroom door behind him. _I tried and look what happened: one step forward. Two steps back._


	9. Chapter 9

Frodo had not seen or spoken to Legolas since their fight two days ago. They took steps to avoid each other as much as possible. Frodo was grateful for the new reprieve. He told Rose they talked, begging her to let him back into the tavern. She allowed it since Frodo looked like he really could use a drink.

 _Impossible_ , he thought not for the first time. _Completely impossible. I can’t marry him…It’s not his fault I have to marry him_. Frodo sighed, lying his head on the counter, one finger tapping the tankard. _He’s a victim too. Try to remember that._

“Trouble in Valinor?” Mr. Cotton asked, beaming.

“It’s the Abyss,” Frodo muttered.

“Well, have you gotten all your weeds out of the garden?”

_Not the garden analogy!_

“They’re...stubborn.”

He sat up, laying a few coins on the counter, deciding to go for a walk instead of wallow. People were less likely to bother you and offer unwanted advice if you went on a walk.

They sky was grey and it smelt like rain. A part of him said he should go home instead, but he fought against it, heading toward the woods. He could usually get some peace and quiet there, just sit in a tree and think, or walk around in peace.

He barely stepped foot among the trees when rain dripped overhead. He held his hand out, feeling the pellets sting his hand and continued southward.

_Weather to suit the mood._

Lightening cracked above followed by thunder. Sighing, he knew it would be best to go home, but the way had darkened as the storm moved over him and he could barely make out the outline of his hand, let alone the path he stood on. He blindly pressed on, hands held out in front of him.

Frodo didn’t know how long he walked. Only that he was cold and wet and most certainly was going to come down with a nasty cold (if not a fever) because of his stubbornness.

If he ever got home.

He lost his footing and screamed, slipping. He felt water around him. Memories he kept pushed down, a place so dark he dared never to allow them to surface, pushed their way upward to his mind. The water was too strong for him and he struggled to stay afloat—

_The boat teetered in the current._

_“Mummy, I don’t like this.”_

_“Hush, Frodo,” she said, rubbing his back. “We’ll be fine. See, we’re already halfway there—”_

_A strong gust of wind overturned the boat. Frodo screamed, his mouth filled with salt water. A strong hand pushed him up. “Climb onto the boat!”_

_Frodo obeyed, clutching to the overturned bottom, shivering. The wind chilled him and the currents floated him further down. “Mummy! Daddy!” He shouted. “MUM!!”_

A hand seized his coat lifting him out of the water and swam to shore.

“What in the name of Manwe were you thinking?!” Legolas shouted, shaking him. He was barely audible over the thunder and the river’s crashing against the storm. “Are you trying to kill yourself?!”

Frodo shivered, coughing. “Mum…Dad…” He turned over, vomiting. Legolas pulled him up, slapping his back, his other arm curled around Frodo’s torso. Frodo gripped at the arm with shaking hands, coughing and retching.

Legolas lifted him up, cradling him. Frodo shivered, burrowing into his chest, weeping as he was carried home. “I don’t want to be alone…Mum…Dad…Come back…please come back…”

He was set down on a bed and stripped of his wet clothes, wrapped in dry blankets. “You aren’t alone,” Legolas whispered, petting his soaked hair. “I’m here. I’m right here.”

“No!”

Legolas shushed him, singing softly and kissing his forehead. His lips against his temple was the last thing Frodo remembered before falling asleep.

#

_Mum…Dad…_

He was horribly hot and a cool cloth against his face and neck was a wonderful relief. “Mum…can I have some soup?”

The hand pauses for a moment. “Of course.” His covers were pulled off a little bit and the blessed air chilled him a little bit. Mum pressed her lips to his forehead, slender fingers petting his cheek. “I’ll be right back with that soup.”

#

Frodo’s appetite alluded him.

“You need to eat,” Bilbo said, trying to spoon broth into his mouth. “Even if just a mouthful, Frodo.”

He shook his head. “I’ll barf.”

“That’s okay. Just a mouthful. I’ll be here to catch you if something goes wrong.”

#

“I missed you,” he said, cupping Kili’s cheek. “I missed you, _Ghivashel_.” No response, but he felt tears against his thumbs. “Please don’t cry. I’ll be okay.”

“Sleep, Frodo.”

“But I haven’t seen you in weeks!”

Shaking hands grip his, pulling them away from the wet cheek. “I’ll be here when you wake up. I’m not leaving. I’m not ever leaving. Frodo, I love you.”

“And I love you, K—” Fingers press against his lips.

“Sleep.”

#

“M’sorry,” Frodo mumbled into his pillow. “I don’t hate you, Leg'las. M’just so mad at everyone and I know it’s not fair t’you or t’anyone, but m’just so angry all th’time.”

Legolas’ fingers combed through his hair. “Why are you angry? Or who are you really angry at?”

“Lots of stuff, like that th’letters were lost, that you couldn’t come see me…that Bilbo didn’t try harder to make me listen. I j’st wish that things turned out diff’rently. Maybe I’d be more okay wit’our marriage then.” Legolas did not answer him right away. Frodo swallowed. “I don’t und’rstand you.”

“What do you mean?”

“How c’n you still be here after ev’rything I’ve said t’you? After ev’rything I did? I’ve b’n horrible t’you. Why are you still here after all th’times I tried to hurt you as deeply as I feel?”

Legolas sighed. “Because I was where you are at too,” he said. “I was angry when my father arranged our marriage without a thought to whether I _wished_ it or not. I lashed out at him often, raged against any who tried to calm me down…I had a hard time accepting it. Probably harder than you did. They were marrying me to a _child_. I had every right to be angry and so do you.”

“But I hurt you.”

“Yes, you have hurt me, but I am not leaving. I’m not going to leave you, Frodo.”

Frodo whined, trying to hide his tears and muffle his voice into the pillow.

“What’s wrong?”

“I could love you,” he admits. “Maybe not as much as I love Kili, but I could. Maybe more, or about the same, I don’t know…I wish I had a choice in who I can love. I wish I could _choose_ to love you instead of be forced into it. If you had come, I could’ve gott’n used t’it without it hurting so much as it does…”

Legolas hushed him. “I know it hurts and I wish I could make the heartache go away. I am sorry I can’t comfort you the way you should be, Frodo.” he sighed, standing.

Frodo seized his wrist. “Don’t leave. Please. Stay.”

“I’m coming back—”

Frodo shook his head. “Could you hold me? So cold…”

Legolas sighed, sitting down on the bed. Frodo scooted over to give him room. Once he lay down, Legolas pulled him into his arms, pulling gently at his curls. Frodo buried into his chest, inhaling the clear scent of grass. He was so warm and it was relaxing…

#

Frodo woke groggily, wondering how he got from outside in a storm to his bedroom, sleeping in Legolas’ arms. He tried to recall what happened between then and now, but his head throbbed with the added effort of thinking.

“Morning.”

“How long have I been asleep?”

“A few hours. You’re fever’s broken, that’s good.”

Frodo sat up and groaned holding his head. “Fever?”

Legolas nodded, sitting up and scratching his head. “You’ve been sick for nearly a week. What do you remember last?”

“The storm…”

Legolas frowned. “Anything later?” Frodo shook his head. “You fell into the river and I fear what would have become of you had I not seen you fall in.”

“How _could_ you see me? I couldn’t see a thing!”

“My eyes are sharper than yours,” Legolas said. “And so are my ears. You almost drowned…you’ve had a fever the last few days. When the doctor was here, you were out cold, but you often woke and thought me someone else.”

“Who?”

“You’re mother.” Frodo blushed. “Bilbo. Kili. Toward the end of it all, you did recognize me.”

“Oh Yavanna…did I…say anything embarrassing?”

“Nothing I didn’t already suspect. And some things that cleared my own doubts.”

Frodo lay his head back on the pillow. “Asking you to sleep with me was one of them, wasn’t it?”

“You’re remarkably honest when you’re sick.”

Frodo groaned. “Only if I’m hallucinating though.”

“True,” Legolas brushed Frodo’s damp curls out of his face. “But the fever is broken now. And I think it is best to get up and make you some more broth. Unless you think you can eat something solid.”

“Maybe later,” Frodo said. “My stomach feels like it could roil at any moment.”

Legolas nodded, getting up. Frodo curled into himself. “Are you cold?”

“Yes. I’ll live…”

“Would you like me to start the bath for you as well? You can wash away the sweat and I’ll…find out where the sheets are…”

“There’s a cabinet at the end of the hall where Bilbo kept spare sheets. A bath sounds lovely…um, about what I said…”

“It was honest,” Legolas said. “And there is hope. Maybe what you said will come back to you once you are feeling a little better.”

Frodo nodded, blushing again. “I can start the bath myself, and thanks for…for taking care of me. It can’t have been pleasant…”

Legolas shrugged and left the room.

While bathing, Frodo nearly ducked down under the water in embarrassment, remembering each word he spoke to Legolas in his feverish state.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EDIT:
> 
> So…this story has a plot map now…which is ridiculously long, so I was thinking of making “An Unexpected Betrothal” the first in a series now called "the Triquetra" which can either go to just before the beginning of “The Lord of the Rings” (meaning before Frodo is called to go on the adventure, which is a period of 17-ish years between his coming of age and Gandalf’s return to tell him about the Ring) or all the way through to the end of the Lord of the Rings. 
> 
> I leave it to you, my dear readers: 7 books or 11 books?
> 
> If I don't get responses to what you'd like, I'll just go through all 11.


	10. Chapter 10

Legolas forced Frodo to stay in Bag End’s general vicinity until he was fully well. To Legolas, that meant _fully well_. No pasty skin, no sneezing colored mucus…

Eating solids and being able to keep them down.

Two days later, despite the overcast sky and Legolas’ persistent mother-henning, Frodo sat outside in the garden, reading. He could do without passerby stopping to ask him how he fared and if his fever had been completely abated.

He knew they meant well, but responding an affirmative twenty times tended to wear on his still a bit frayed attitude. Frodo sighed, returning to his book. He wondered what the feverish revelations he had would lead to. Winter was fast approaching. Storms were only going to get more frequent and the weather would begin to chill. Snow would soon start to fall.

Frodo feared how Legolas would react once it did star to snow. Would Frodo be allowed to venture out of Bag End at all after that?

“It could rain soon,” Legolas announced from the door.

“If it does, _then_ I will come in,” Frodo said. “And not before.”

“Well, your bite’s back,” Legolas muttered.

Frodo turned to him. “I’m sorry,” he said. “Too many nosy neighbors. They mean well, but I can’t say it doesn’t get old answering the same question a hundred times! Perhaps I should shout out that I’m better and that there’s no need to inquire about my health…”

Legolas laughed, sitting beside him, slouching on the garden bench. “It could be worse. It could be those scowling relatives of yours.”

“You mean the Sackville-Bagginses?”

“Who else? The wife could be pretty if she had it in her to smile a bit and not be so unpleasant. I have to wonder how her husband can _stand_ her!”

Frodo snorted, closing his book. “You and everyone else in the Shire,” he said. “She tried to rob Bilbo of his silverware once. However, by then, Bilbo was an expert thief and caught her in the act.”

“That can’t have been pleasant for anyone involved!”

“The Shire still talks about how he was so angry he literally threw her out of the house! Why do you think the SBs and Bilbo don’t get along?”

Legolas hummed. “Well it’d be a little hard to get along with someone who manhandled your spouse…”

Frodo nodded. “Not his best moment, he did apologize, but Lobelia never regretted trying to rob him. She didn’t think she did anything wrong. They think Bag End belongs to the Baggins family, but…to be honest, if I were to leave, it’d actually go to the Tooks. It was built as a wedding gift for Bilbo’s mother.”

“A house for a dower?” Legolas asked, staring behind him at the Hobbit Hole. “His father must have loved his mother dearly if _this_ was his wedding gift to her.”

Frodo nodded. “The tale of Bungo and Belladonna is still quite popular among the lasses. Opposites attract. There’s some funny moments in there that make us laugh.”

“Such as?” Legolas asked.

Frodo snorted. “If Bilbo is to be believed—and sometimes I wonder—they went walking one day and Belladonna got her foot caught in a snare. Bungo hadn’t a knife on him and the knot was too tight for him to loosen. She tried to keep her decency, but eventually gave up and let her skirts fall, threatening to scandalize all of the Shire if he didn’t get her down _soon_.”

Legolas threw his head back and laughed, sliding down on the bench and clutching his stomach.

“Thankfully a ranger came by and cut her down for him before another Hobbit came by,” Frodo finished. “So while there was no _scandal_ per _say_ , no one was really surprised that Belladonna would do that! Some still wonder what Bungo saw in her, since he was a _respectable_ Baggins.”

“I believe that ‘respectable’ is a debatable topic, prone to wax and wane depending on the times and culture you come across. For instance to Elves and Dwarves both, cutting one’s hair is a sign of immense shame, whereas for Hobbits and Men, it’s normal for males to cut their hair.”

“Same with triads to Elves,” Frodo said. “Something like that is scandalous to the other free peoples, but perfectly acceptable among yours.”

“Exactly. What your people would consider scandalous, mine might just shrug it off. Another thing I’ve noticed is while the people are polite here they have a terrible habit of gossiping.”

Frodo groaned. “Do I want to know what they’ve been saying?”

“They’ve a thing or two against my being a male Elf,” Legolas sighed. “They seem to think Bilbo’s completely off his rocker for allowing something so ‘unnatural’ as a same-sex union. However I’m a bearer. Marriage didn’t _have_ to be on the table for me at all. For a long time, it wasn’t. Would they find my ability to have children ‘unnatural’ too?”

Frodo bit his lip, unsure how to soften it. Finding none, he settled for the cold hard truth: “They would, since you identify as male.”

Legolas played with a strand of hair, frowning.

“While it does confuse me,” Frodo continued, “I don’t think you’re ‘unnatural’ for it. Elves and Dwarves were made differently than Hobbits and Men and both non-bearing peoples have a tendency to fear what they don’t understand. Bilbo taught me that what we don’t understand should not be feared, but rather embraced so that we can _learn_ to understand it. So…when you say you’re a bearer, does that mean that I can…erm…”

“Have children with me?” Legolas finished for him. “Yes. It means _exactly_ that. A bearer, outwardly looks like a male of their species, but being a bearer is more like a third sex. It’s just easier for bearers to identify themselves as males to Men, and apparently Hobbits, because we do, outwardly, appear male in that we have the _parts_ , but we develop breasts during pregnancy and we are born with a womb. We don’t _bleed_ and I suppose Men and Hobbits would assume that means we’re barren, but it’s just something we don’t _do_ though we are fertile. Our children tend to be smaller than those born of women because a woman’s build allows for larger children. It doesn’t mean their children are healthier than those born of a bearer. Whether a child is healthy or not completely depends on the bearer or mother. When we get pregnant, we have the same symptoms as a woman would: morning sickness, mood swings—though for us, it’s a bit more violent—bloating and swelling of our glands and feet while the baby grows…”

Frodo listened raptly. It was odd, and he felt a tad perturbed.

But he could have _children_ with Legolas. Something he wouldn’t be able to have with Kili. He knew several Hobbits who were like him and Bilbo—in that they both fancied men (though Frodo did fancy women too)—had had their hearts broken because their lover left them to marry a lady solely because she can produce a child for them. Elves and Dwarves, he decided, had an easier time favoring the same sex if some of their males were able to have children.

 _But do I want to have a child?_ Frodo wondered. He never gave it serious thought and now he was to marry someone who could give him a child if they wished it. It was probably expected of them.

“It’s not something we need to worry about now,” Legolas said, standing. A drop of rain water hit Frodo’s head and he looked up. “Shall we go inside before you catch another cold?”

“It’s _raining_ and there are no rivers for me to fall into, Legolas.”

“I’d rather you die of old age rather than from illness at a young age.”

Frodo followed him inside. “Is that why you’ve been so nutty about keeping me here the last couple days?” He closed the door and looked up at Legolas. “I’m sorry I scared you when I was sick, but I’m not a fauntling and I’m not as old as _Bilbo_. It was just a cold. Trust me, I’ve survived worse ailments.”

Legolas knelt. “Are you sure?”

“Yes, Legolas. It was just a fever. A very _nasty_ fever, I admit, but still just a fever.” The wind banged against the window panes, startling them. Frodo chuckled. “Maybe it’ll be a stormy winter instead of a snowy one. I think most of us would prefer that…”

“Why?”

“The Fell Winter,” Frodo said, as though it was the most obvious answer, moving toward the kitchen. “We’d rather have the river flooding a little bit than it freezing solid enough for wolves and Orcs to cross through.”

“This happened before?”

A little more than a century ago. I don’t think my own father was born yet…Bilbo was a tween. It was the worst winter the Shire had ever seen. Hundreds, maybe more, died before help finally arrived.”

Frodo gathered ingredients for chicken soup. “Maybe that’s why Mirkwood’s offer to protect the Shire in exchange for our knowledge in cultivation was so…I don’t know.”

“That we were already trading should have been enough,” Legolas said. “I don’t know why my father decided to ‘seal’ it with a marriage between us.”

“Why me?” He asked. Legolas didn’t answer. “Do you think it might be less because of my relationship to Bilbo but more that I’ve the blood of the three lead families of the Shire?  I guess the term would be ‘noblest.’”

“What do you mean?”

 “My father was a Baggins,” Frodo said, “Obviously. And my mother was a Brandybuck. Her mother was a Took. All three are, I suppose, the wealthiest families and the Tooks are the closest thing to royalty we have, though we don’t recognize royalty.”

Legolas sighed. “That does sound like something my father would approve of. An heir of not just _one_ but _three_ noble houses, one being the equivalent to royalty…It could be, but there’s really no way to know why it had to be _you_ or even why it had to be _me_.”

Frodo hummed, chopping vegetables. “Well, like you said, I’m terribly honest when I’m sick, so I know that, even though consciously I’m not quite ready to admit to all that I’ve admitted while sick…it is true, so…I am sorry about the way I’ve treated you before.”

“And I am sorry for kissing you without your consent. Such a thing is unforgiveable to my people. I should not have—”

“I’m not an Elf. Nor am I a woman, Legolas—wait, can bearers also be fathers? Like…if they marry a female?”

Legolas laughed. “Yes.”

Frodo hummed. “That must be handy.”

“Only if we prefer women to men. Some of us aren’t all that keen on bearing.”

“Are you?”

“It never mattered. I am my father’s heir. I would have to have a child. Preferably a son, if my father is to be believed, but I would, honestly, prefer a daughter.”

“You’ve given it thought.”

“I’ve been alive for about seven hundred years. Of course I’ve given thought to whether I’d prefer a son or daughter. Haven’t you?”

Frodo shook his head. “I’m not sure I’d like to be a father. Maybe one day, but…”

“Don’t fret. There’s time before then.” He stood, excusing himself. Frodo wondered if he said something to upset Legolas without meaning to. He knew, now that he knew he could, that he might have a child someday and that scared him, but…had he somehow upset Legolas in his admission? “Don’t frown so much. You’ll get premature wrinkles! I’d rather my spouse _not_ become an old man so soon before we’re even _married_.”

“Poke fun why don’t you,” Frodo snapped, though his mouth did curve upward. Legolas took his hand pressing a pendant into the palm. “What’s this?”

“My first courting gift. If you’ve not noticed, this is the first actual coherent conversation we’ve had without starting a fight. I figured it’d be okay to give this to you now.”

Frodo turned the pendant in his hand. It was a brooch made from a green stone carved into the shape of a leaf. “It’s beautiful.”

“So you accept it?”He asked. Frodo shifted his gaze from the brooch to Legolas. He would never get used to seeing an Elf so nervous, so… _relatable_ that it was hard to remember that he _was_ an Elf. That he _was_ immortal.

Frodo nodded. “I accept it.” Legolas’ grin was infectious. He knelt to his knees again, kissing Frodo’s cheek. It was such a difference from the last kiss, that Frodo was startled. It was sweet. Even tender compared to the roughness he experienced before and his heart fluttered.

And that scared him.


	11. Chapter 11

Two days after he accepted the brooch, worn on his jacket, Frodo woke to see a bouquet of white roses and wild carrots. He lifted them, brushing his fingers over the petals, a small smile growing at the corner of his mouth.

_Purity and sanctuary…maybe “I will protect you?”_

Frodo carried the flowers to the kitchen, selecting an empty vase, cleaned it, filled it with water, and placed the flowers inside it, placing it beside on the windowsill in the study where it could get some sunlight. He looked over his deposits, and sighed. It was almost time to collect the rent from those who rented land that belonged to the Baggins family.

Of which he now owned, having inherited the land from Bilbo when he decided to run off. He didn’t like having to demand money from the people who rented from them, but it was necessary and they all liked Bilbo. Some actually would come by to pay rent instead and have a cup of tea.

Frodo realized that he needed to find someone— _not_ the Sackville-Bagginses! That much was clear! Bilbo would have his head if he dared!—to take over the lands for him when he left.

He would have to leave. He wouldn’t be able to stay when he and Legolas agreed to finish their courtship. He was sure that Legolas, being a prince, would need to return home.

He made a note to write Bilbo about what he should do. Bag End had to go to someone, but to who was constantly in question. If it were entirely up to him, he’d probably give in and _let_ the SB’s have it…

“Those are a lot of names.”

Frodo glanced up at Legolas. “Renters,” he clarified. “These are the names of everyone who rents land from Bilbo. Well, _me_ now, I guess. Rent is due today…I’m not keen on going and demanding money from them. Some of these people live hard enough without me breathing down their necks.”

Legolas patted his back. “It never is. Taxes, rents, each has to be done properly. Perhaps your uncle had _a system that worked to everyone’s advantage?”_

“I think so. He certainly didn’t _need_ to work after his quest…but he did…probably to keep himself busy. Not that _collecting rent_ is a hard job. Just not easy or liked.”

“He seemed quite well liked to me.”

Frodo shrugged. “Bilbo’s eccentric and jovial. Hard not to like, despite the scandals he caused before settling down to adopt me—which was also considered a scandal because of how far removed in the Baggins family line I am. Technically all this,” he waved around the room. “Shouldn’t belong to me.”

Legolas shook his head. “It _should_. Bilbo was the head of the Baggins family, was he not? It was in his very right to name his own heir if he had none and he named _you_ ,” he sat on the floor, back pressed against the wall and his neck braced by the windowsill. “If they think what Bilbo did in naming you his heir was ‘scandalous’ because you’re more distant on the family tree perhaps they should rethink the way _they_ see the world. To be frank, I like Bag End. It’s a little _small_ for me, but I’d like it to stay yours, Frodo. I don’t _want_ you to give up this home just because you’ll be living with me in Mirkwood. On my honor, Bag End will remain yours. And I like it here. It’s a good home and the winters here are wonderful so far! It’s so open and I can imagine the way it looks when it snows: snow everywhere in a way that the Mirkwood never achieves.”

Frodo blinked at him. He smiled. “Thank you, Legolas. I’m sure your home is just as beautiful in winter.”

“Not enough room for playing unless it’s a snowball fight or building snow-elves. No hills, though, and the children have told me about sledding. I’d like to try it if it snows this year.”

“It will,” Frodo promised. “It always snows in the Shire. So long as it doesn’t snow too much and supplies don’t run out, you’ll see a beautiful winterland.”

“See: that’s what I mean,” Legolas said. “You can experience it better in a place that is a mix of open and closed. You have the trees in your forests and that is _gorgeous_ as it would be in Mirkwood—but that’s all there _is_ there. Just trees and while I’ve never had a problem with that when I was young, I used to sneak over to the towns of Men with a few sentries and we’d play with the children there. Sometimes with the Dwarflings.”

Frodo nodded, leaning back in his seat. “I wonder what it is about this time of year. It’s cold, icy, wet, and still everyone, for a season, stop hating. Or try to stop hating.”

“It’s the snow,” Legolas said. “Granted by the Valar to bring good cheer in the time when the world is at its darkest. And in the darkness, it brings light.” Frodo stared at him a moment longer.

“I like that,” he said after what seemed like a rather long pause. “I really like that. You should write that down. You could be a poet, your highness.”

Legolas laughed. “Please, don’t call me ‘highness!’ Or would you rather I call you ‘lord’ since you’re a landholder—yes, I’ve been here long enough to know that the Shire doesn’t recognize a feudal system like us _barbarians_ —”

“Elves aren’t barbarians!” Frodo snapped. “Men, usually. Dwarves…I guess. But Elves?”

“You’ll agree with me when you see how Wood Elves live,” he said with a bright grin. “Compared to the Elves in Rivendell, my people are uncultured apes! We’re akin to the wild-men living around Rohan.”

“You belittle your own people’s standing!” Frodo snapped. “What would your father say that?”

“That I’m right.”

Frodo kicked Legolas’ shoulder lightly. “Ass.”

Legolas snorted, leering. “I could think of a few things that have to do with—”

“Yavanna above! You’re lecherous!” Frodo laughed.

“Just for you, _melleth nin_ ,” Legolas replied, shifting to stand on his knees, and kissed Frodo. He pulled away as quickly as he had kissed him, his smile gone. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s okay,” Frodo said, his own smile vanished as well.

“You still love him,” Legolas whispered.

“I think I always will love Kili,” Frodo admitted.

He sighed, averting his gaze to his hands because he didn’t want to see the heartbreak in the Elf’s eyes. It never gave him satisfaction when it was angry and now that he isn’t, it only makes him angry at himself. How could he have wanted to hurt him? How could Legolas be so patient with him?

 _I have been more than cruel,_ he thought, _I have been a monster._

“But I am _trying_ to love you too, Legolas.”

The silence that followed was awkward and Frodo wasn’t sure how to make it less so. “So…um…when will we leave for Mirkwood?”

“When spring begins, we will leave. I was thinking of stopping in Rivendell for a bit on the way if that’s all right.” Frodo nodded. He’d like to go to Rivendell for a bit. “After which, we’ll continue on our way. There isn’t much other chance for a reprieve once we leave Rivendell, which is our halfway point.”

“It is?”

“Once we reach Rivendell, we have to cross the mountains, which can be dangerous for travelers so that venture must be taken with great care. And then we have a small bit of forest to get through and then we’ll be at the Elven Path which will take us right to my father’s palace.”

Frodo steeled himself, lifting his head to look at Legolas whose eyes were downcast.

“Legolas, I am sorry.”

“For what?” he asked, looking up.

“For being needlessly cruel.”

“You were angry.”

“That’s not a very good excuse, though,” Frodo said. “You did nothing to…deserve the way I had treated you and still I…I had been awful to you since we met.”

Legolas shook his head, taking Frodo’s hand in his. “I will not deny that you have hurt me greatly, Frodo,” he said, “With both your actions and with your words. Were this arrangement not necessary, I would have called it off the moment I saw you with Kili. I love you, Frodo, and I will not deny you what you wish.” His grip tightened slightly. “I love you and yet more than once I had doubted whether our marriage could even survive since I met you. You have broken my heart repeatedly and though I understand you were angry…”

His eyes glistened and his breathing labored. He closed his eyes as though trying to dam his tears, only for them to fall. Frodo felt wretched as he wiped away the tears.

“Why did you insist on hurting me? What did I do to deserve your ire?”

Frodo’s own breathing labored as his eyes pricked with tears and his nose clogged. “Nothing,” he said. “You didn’t do anything, Legolas. I was…you were…”

“I was here,” Legolas sighed, “and the people you were truly angry at were not.” Frodo closed his eyes and bit his lip.

 _I’d rather have been hit_ , he thought.

He opened his eyes and stood, standing before Legolas. He got to his knees and pressed his forehead against the floor.

“What are you doing?!” Legolas asked, a hint of horror in his voice. Frodo ignored it.

“I am so sorry. I will do whatever you desire to show that I am sincere in my repentance of my transgressions against you. I am unworthy to be called your husband and after the way I’ve acted, I don’t think I ever will be worthy of you, Legolas—”

“Frodo, stand up. Stand and look at me,” Legolas said, pulling him up to his knees. “All I ask is that you love me. _That is all_.” His grip slackened, dropping to Frodo’s forearms, held in a limp grasp. “That is all.”

The flowers on the windowsill almost vanished in the scene of fat snowflakes falling outside. In the back of his head, Frodo remembered that he had to go collect the rent. But he pushed the niggling thought aside, scooting closer to Legolas, pressing both hands against the Elf’s head and pressing his lips to Legolas’ tentatively. He pulled away after a moment, lips tingling.

Legolas’ hand threaded through his hair and returned the kiss. It grew and Frodo closed his eyes, shivering as a hand trailed down his spine, resting on the small of his back. Legolas pushed him down gently, covering him completely, to the floor.

Frodo wrapped his arms around Legolas’ neck, fingers tangling in Legolas’ long flaxen locks. Legolas’ hands curled around the dressing gown Frodo still wore—

He broke the kiss and tried to get up. Frodo wrapped his legs around Legolas’ torso.

“Go ahead.”

“Frodo—”

“I _know_ what sex means for you and your people. I _know_ about the bond that will be created. I’m just…I’m tired of fighting and we’re to be married anyway and I just…I just…” Frodo was certain he had driven Legolas away instead of assure him he was all right with the change in events. “I won’t be mad if you don’t…want to right now…” he said.

Legolas stood, lifting Frodo up, carrying him down the hall into his room and laid him on the bed, pulling the gown off him and kissing Frodo again, hands roaming the length of Frodo’s body, trailing kisses over Frodo’s skin.

Frodo hissed when a finger tweaked one nipple and the other was nipped between teeth and sucked. Legolas switched to the other bud and Frodo moaned, snaking his hand into those locks and tugging. The elf moaned, moving away from Frodo’s chest, down his stomach and mark Frodo’s skin beside his navel. Once that had been done, he moved lower, teasing Frodo’s half-hard length with his mouth.

Frodo tugged on Legolas’ hair again, but this didn’t bring him up for a kiss. He engulfed him, sucking him in and pressing his tongue against Frodo’s slit…Frodo closed his eyes and bit his lip, simultaneously tensing and relaxing through the ministrations. He whined, wishing Legolas would stop teasing him.

A particularly hard suck had him bucking into Legolas’ mouth. He gasped. “ _Le—com—_ ”

His climax surged into Legolas’ mouth and his seed swallowed. Frodo pushed Legolas weakly onto his back, eager to return the favor. He massaged Legolas’ abused scalp as he kissed him before moving down—

A loud knock interrupted them and Frodo groaned, pressing his forehead against Legolas’ chest, reminded that he had to collect the rent today.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wild Carrots are more commonly and elegantly known as Queen Anne’s Lace, but the carrots we have today are the offspring of these flowers oddly enough. 
> 
> And look! Things are getting better. Cock blocking neighbors aside...


	12. Chapter 12

The weather had been having trouble deciding whether to remain cold enough to snow or warm, so, while there were days where it snowed enough for fights and building snow Hobbits, it had not been quite good enough to go sledding.

Which was all right with Frodo.

Most of the fun was indoors lately anyway as he and Legolas explored each other.

He still loved Kili. But unlike Kili, Legolas was _here_ and holding Frodo in _his_ arms.

The newfound connection Frodo had with Legolas helped move their relationship along. (Even if it was grossly misused when Legolas decided to send him rather… _erotic_ telepathic messages just to rile Frodo up. The Elf had _far_ too much fun making Frodo blush in public and no amount of glaring and threatening to withhold sweets swayed Legolas into behaving.)

He received flowers, as frequently as they could be found.

Sometimes, the flowers were actually jewelry, such as his brooch, which Frodo alternated wearing: a bracelet designed to look like a wreath of hyacinths. A small hair clip designed to look like a small rose. A necklace with a lily pendant.

Where they came from or how Legolas came to make them, Frodo only guessed. He liked them. Wore them as was appropriate.

The one thing he did his best to wear daily was the brooch, pinned to his jacket.

His friends would congratulate him for “de-weeding his garden” with their eyes and smiles whenever they saw Frodo and Legolas interact on friendly terms.

What they didn’t know was that nothing was, as they’d like to think, “perfect” between him and Legolas. And it’d be stupid to think it ever could be even “almost perfect.”

Frodo had accepted that they were fiancés. He agreed to be loyal to Legolas, and he pulled his head out of his arse at long last to see what damage his anger and sorrow had done to the Elf, who had was as faultless as he in the proceedings that led to their arrangement.

They had become friends and lovers…

He didn’t mind this arrangement.

Legolas was quite witty and jovial when he was at his happiest. He was intelligent and thoughtful in ways Frodo wasn’t and would make points in an argument that Frodo couldn’t have dreamt to think of in his life.

And that was when they showed themselves as friends—the front they gave the Shire and would give anyone else they came across.

In the privacy of Bag End, when the rest of the Shire was known to be asleep, the long nights grew passionate and Frodo could almost forget Kili. There is too much of a difference between an Elf and a Dwarf for him to make any comparisons between the two anyway.

It also helps that what is spoken more frequently when Legolas makes love to him is Sindarin and not Khuzdul. The languages are too different: one is smooth as velvet, the other rough as tree-bark…

Legolas’ hips snap against Frodo’s backside, nails digging into Frodo’s hips. Frodo’s back arched, heels digging into Legolas’ back, eyes closed and moth open in a silent scream as his orgasm ripped through him before collapsing on the bed.

“ _Melleth nin_ ,” Legolas whispered, leaning down to kiss Frodo sloppily.

“ _Las…Oh!_ ”

His hands tangled in Legolas’ hair nearly ripping the hairs out. How Legolas found _that_ arousing as Frodo found it rather off putting and painful…he’ll never know. He was more than happy to take advantage of it. Or would if his arms didn’t feel heavy.

Legolas groaned, snapping his hips half a dozen more times before he achieved his own climax. His movement slowed and he pulled out as slowly as he dared.

Frodo moaned, curling into a ball.

“Not yet,” Legolas said, squeezing access water out of a basin left on the bedside table.

“Too tired. Worry about aftercare later,” Frodo mumbled.

He felt Legolas laugh weakly and was uncurled a lukewarm cloth rubbing against his abdomen. Legolas kissed him.

“You,” he groaned, stretching onto the bed, cloth tossed to the side. “Are gorgeous.”

Frodo hummed, curling into him. “So are you, Dearest.”

“Dearest?”

His eyes snapped open and I looked up at Legolas, worried he’d find he had affronted him. Relieved to see the smile he nodded.

“So does that mean you love me?” Legolas asked.

Frodo blinked, pressing his forehead against Legolas’.

“Perhaps it does. I’m certainly fond of you, Legolas and I like you more each day now that my head’s been dislodged from my arse.”

“But you still love Kili.”

“I do. I know that hurts you, but—”

“I wouldn’t mind having him for a lover as well.”

Frodo looked up. “What?”

“I told you it was possible to have triads, did I not?” Frodo nodded, remembering that conversation. “Then why should we not at least ask Kili if he’d be interested in being our husband as well?”

“You said it could be dangerous though,” Frodo reminded him. “Didn’t you?”

“Only if you and Kili push me aside…which is why I was reluctant to open it up to you as an actual possibility. I feared you’d demand it, but you didn’t…”

Frodo sighed. “I didn’t because at the time I knew I _would_ have pushed you away. Now, I’m not so sure. I love you both. But Kili and I barely began to court—we had literally just admitted to being in love that morning—when the news of our engagement came to light for me.

“But at the same time, it wasn’t Kili who remained here with me even after the whole… _fiasco_ , I guess we can call it. It was you. How you managed to _stand_ me during the last few weeks I’ll never know. I’d have given up long ago if our positions were reversed. And I’m sure you were tempted.”

Legolas hummed. “I was, but had I not persisted, we’d not be having this conversation.”

Frodo nodded. “There is no harm in talking to him about it, I agree. But will he be okay with it?”

“I do not mind sharing you with him so long as you and him can do the same.”

He rested his forehead against Legolas’ chest. “So…instead of one, I’ll have two husbands, if Kili agrees?”

“Yes. One of your own choosing and mine.”

“How will that even _work_?”

Legolas stroked his hair. “It works much the same as any other relationship.”

Frodo propped up on shaky arms. “I would like to talk to Kili about that. I don’t know if he’ll agree, but there is no harm in at least _talking_ to him about it when we get the chance to.”

He sighed. Legolas caressed his cheek, pulling him into another kiss.

“What’s wrong?”

“My uncle won’t like it if Kili agrees.”

“Neither will my father,” Legolas said.

“It’s more than just disapproval, Legolas,” Frodo said. “I don’t know what happened between Bilbo and Thorin but I can only think that it was worse than I thought if he’s so bitter against Dwarves that…”

“He’s still friends with them.”

“You’ve not seen him around Thorin. Or heard what he said about Kili when I told him I loved him.”

“It’s not Dwarves.”

“ _It is_ ,” Frodo insisted. “Bilbo said he’d never approve of a Dwarf, especially if they came from the line of Durin and Kili is a direct descendant of the line of Durin through his mother. It’s as though he’s convinced they’re almost _evil_ , Legolas. I don’t blame him for being angry with Thorin, but…”

Legolas frowned. “What Thorin did to Bilbo was awful. I was there. I saw him being dangled over the ledge. Yes, it’s been a long time since then and some people can hold grudges for ages. It’s not healthy, but I understand why Bilbo would still be angry.”

“What aren’t you telling me?”

“Only what you need to hear from Bilbo yourself if he is willing to delve into that wound.” Legolas rubbed circles into Frodo’s thigh. “Regardless what Bilbo or my father thinks, our decision to enter into a triad will be ours to make. Neither may approve, but neither have control over us. My father is my father and your uncle is your uncle.”

“Your father is also your king.”

“And the king will not deny his people love, let alone his son. My father may seem hard, Frodo, and even greedy, and he may try as much as he likes to control me, but he will agree that there are certain advantages to having me enter into a triad with you and a prince of Erebor. We already trade with them. A marriage between our two people would only solidify those agreements as it has done for the Shire and Mirkwood. So even if he doesn’t approve, he will focus on the political advantages of such an arrangement and he’ll leave the love aspect of our relationship.”

“That still leaves Bilbo.”

“You are an adult, Frodo,” Legolas reminded him. “You don’t _need_ his permission for anything you want to do anymore. He can disapprove of Kili all he wishes. What matters to me is that you’re happy and if that means being able to call both me and Kili your husband, then so be it.”

He reached over and snuffed the candle.

“We’ll discuss it in length over breakfast, yeah?” Legolas asked.

“Sure,” Frodo said, nestling closer. “Goodnight, Dearest.”

“ _Ollo vae, melleth nin. Gi melin._ ”*

Frodo closed his eyes, dreaming of both his loves. His beloved and his dearest—his Dwarf and his Elf…

He smiled, somewhat trying to meld into Legolas as he slept.

**THE END**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Sweet dreams, my love. I love you. (I think…)
> 
> It's my birthday today, so here's the end of the first installment of "the Triquetra" series early!


End file.
